


Sustained Misunderstanding on Cato Neimoidia

by theZanyArthropleura



Series: A Thousand Closed, Shattered Hearts (A Thousand Open, Active Questlines) [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Battle Droids, Cato Neimoidia, Chatlogs, Humor, Inquisitors with even more ridiculous lightsabers, Multi, Nonbinary Revan, Oblivious Time Travellers, Original Inquisitor Character(s) - Freeform, RPG tropes, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Team as Family, Time Travel, kinrath, original NPCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theZanyArthropleura/pseuds/theZanyArthropleura
Summary: Damaged on the way to Manaan and in need of immediate repairs, the Ebon Hawk is forced to make an emergency landing on Cato Neimoidia. As a member of the expedition party, Mission Vao’s primary concern is navigating the local populace and acquiring the needed replacement parts. Secondary concerns include unraveling the mystery of that weird anomaly that pulled them out of hyperspace, and figuring out why the planet is crawling with random patrols of enemies called ‘stormtroopers.’
Relationships: Barriss Offee/Ahsoka Tano (Future), Jolee Bindo & Canderous Ordo, Juhani & HK-47, Juhani/Revan (Star Wars), Mission Vao & Barriss Offee, Mission Vao & Zaalbar
Series: A Thousand Closed, Shattered Hearts (A Thousand Open, Active Questlines) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914355
Comments: 14
Kudos: 40





	1. The More Things don’t actually Change as much as you’d expect them to

**Author's Note:**

> Be forewarned, this work (and eventual series as a whole) relies on many, many surprises and plot twists, including untagged characters and relationships. Tags will be added as the works progress, however.
> 
> Not to be taken entirely seriously, except when it is.

_**Wow, sometimes helping people feels pretty good, you know?** _

_**This is what the Jedi should be.** _

**— Mission Vao and Juhani, 3956 BBY**

“Incoming fighters!”

Revan shouted the words into an empty corridor, because with Carth gone, _someone_ had to.

As always, they had timed their run for the _Ebon Hawk_ ’s dorsal turret such that they took the double-barreled cannon’s controls at the very moment the enemy fighter formation leveled out behind the _Hawk_. Fingers squeezed blindly on the triggers, the initial barrage catching the smaller ships in the closest point of their clustering. Even as multiple sequential explosions obscured the view from the exterior cameras, Revan swung the turret left, catching one of the two flanks the fighters had split into and cutting off their escape. When the dust cleared, the proximity sensors were only registering four intact targets remaining.

And that was a damn good thing, too, because while these ships seemed to be just as fragile as the starfighters from Malak’s fleet, they evaded with a slight improvement in overall agility and their weapons fire hit much, much harder.

 _Screaming_ through space as it completed its pass, the first of the swarming remnants set alarms blaring in the control station after a single successful hit, the green plasma detonation rocking the freighter in its flight and nearly throwing off Revan’s aim.

The design held by the pursuing fighters was… well, it wasn’t _entirely_ unfamiliar. There were noted similarities in the central canopy section, though the former streamlined curve had been reshaped to a fully spherical pod, and the aerodynamic foils to either side had been switched out for, curiously, a pair of large, hexagonal solar arrays.

The ships’ forward portrait – a circle set between two vertical lines – gave Revan an admitted moment of pause, but ultimately, coincidence was far more likely than the existence of a second Star Forge – or more feasibly, an intentional adoption of the symbolism on the part of the Sith.

Whatever the case, though, it was a question that was probably best left for a time when the _Hawk_ wasn’t presently under heavy cannon fire.

The weaponry was nothing to laugh at, but the ships themselves still burned like sheets of flimsi under Revan’s return volley. Those solar arrays even presented much larger targets in profile than the older models ever did, and one shot to either panel would send the craft into an uncontrollable spin despite the lack of atmosphere.

The difficult part, as per usual, was that the remaining fighters had split up for strafing runs, attacking the _Hawk_ from angles the turret often couldn’t swivel fast enough to defend. While two of the four were being dealt with to the rear of the ship, a third swept in from the front, its energy bombardment finally proving too much for the failing shield to take. Revan lit up that fighter in an explosive fireball at the end of its run, but not before the last one approached from starboard and fired a shot that caused some rather nasty-looking damage to the starboard repulsor engine.

Revan felt the _Hawk_ shake violently, barely managing to align the final shot through the turbulence and bring an end to their unwelcome escort.

Exiting the controls and dropping down the ladder, Revan hurried through the freighter’s common area, darting for the cockpit as alarms continued to blare. An urgent roar from Zaalbar greeted them, the Wookiee’s long arms reaching for controls on both the dash and divider console.

“We’re venting from our starboard repulsor,” Mission translated. “I’m… guessing that’s bad?”

“Bad, but not a death sentence, at least not yet,” Canderous assured grimly from where he stood behind the pilot’s chair. Flat palm edged over his brow, the Mandalorian was watching through the viewport with a searching glare of the type that suggested the status of that assessment hinged on whether or not he found what he was looking for. “There!” he gestured, pointing to a distant spot of teal-green in the vastness of empty, starlit space before them. “Cato Neimoidia, one of the Neimoidian purse worlds.”

“It’s not Manaan, but it might at least be somewhere we can set down for a bit,” Mission pondered aloud as she set a course and adjusted to conserve engine power. “Fix the ship ourselves if we can, scout out for whatever parts we might need…” The Twi’lek tried unsuccessfully to hide her worry with a shrug and a smile. “Try not to get tied up in local conflicts, but probably do that anyway…”

Revan eyed the small, turquoise planet in the distance, its surface narrowly striped from pole to pole with lateral clouds. With nothing else in sight, well…

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

  


* * *

  


As the _Hawk_ approached, the planet was… well, it was _mist_. Lots and lots of mist, to the point any surface that might have been below the denser layers was rendered invisible. The only land in sight was made up of steep, plateaued rock formations that rose out of the fog, some of them then twisting back into the vast, clouded descent to form gigantic archways.

With forests and grassy plains scattered throughout the level surfaces, and more daring plant life clinging to the steep, near-vertical slopes, there was still something newly _alien_ about the immenseness and complexity of it all. Even after the numerous strange and wild planets Mission had been to since Taris, she’d never seen such an uncontrolled expression of world-shaping phenomena, and the sight of it now was… honestly? _Breathtaking_. Searching urgently for any traces of civilization set apart from untapped wilderness, it took Mission several curious glances at the hanging bridges, stretched between rock spires or under arches, to realize they were _cities_.

Uninterrupted stretches of shining, spire-like buildings reminiscent of the uppermost level on Taris, running in narrow, elongated strips of civilization across the bowed, reinforced support platforms that had been built around a framework of divide-crossing cables anchored in the rock. Most of the bridge cities were suspended on underhand curves with buildings protruding upwards, but a few were inverted: support brace arching overhead with the buildings built _downward_ like stalactites.

There was… _probably_ some rational, structural reason for that besides ‘hey, let’s see if we can’t build one of these things _upside-down_ ,’ but if there was, Mission wasn’t seeing it.

“…We don’t know if they’ll be friendly down there,” Revan pondered from where they’d settled in the unoccupied chair behind Zaalbar’s copilot seat, “and those fighters attacking us out of nowhere certainly doesn’t help the matter. If we’re going to be stranded here for any length of time, avoid the public landing pads and land us _covertly_ , if you can.”

Mission did her best to keep the _Ebon Hawk_ out of sight while she scoped out the cities’ immediate surroundings for suitable places to land. Most of the rock formations were steep, jagged, and unforgiving, but she soon spotted one lower, out-of-the-way island peak that was capped in a relatively flat plateau.

“There?” Mission pointed toward the formation, out of direct view of most of the cities and connected only to a single bridge of the right-side-up variety.

“Probably as good as we’re going to find, let’s go with it,” Revan decided after a short moment of thought. “Set us down.”

The plateau’s surface was covered by dense forest, with several strips of grassland around the outer edges. As she zeroed in on a small clearing toward the middle, Mission noticed the metallic glint of a few buildings set into the cliff-face above the bridge anchors, but her focus was presently on guiding the _Hawk_ gently down through the gap in the treetops, concealing the freighter from any angle other than directly overhead. The silenced, but still visibly flashing alarms on the dash finally settled down as the systems turned off one by one, the landing procedure completing.

Mission sighed in relief, taking a moment to breathe. The distant sounds of the forest filtered in faintly – rustling leaves and a few bird calls, mostly. She couldn’t actually see the trees since all the exterior windows in the cockpit had fogged up again – and _this_ time, that actually made sense, on account of the mist in the planet’s atmosphere.

 _Yup, take this one in stride_ , she thought to herself a few times on repeat, with a half-grimaced, forced smile tugging on her lips.

It was probably going to be a long day.

  


* * *

  


The _Lower Forest_.

At least, that was what Mission would have named it, if she felt like assigning names to arbitrarily-defined sections of all the places the party traveled through. The forest floor itself alternated in small dips and rises, if generally level overall, but far enough along the course they’d set toward the group of buildings they’d spotted on the plateau’s edge, the more distant areas of the woods appeared to rest on a significant upslope.

Stepping off of the _Hawk_ ’s ramp, the small patches of grass faded quickly to time-worn, meandering paths of bare dirt. Shade was plentiful, the overhead tree cover moderately dense, but it wasn’t anywhere near the Kashyyyk Shadowlands. Compared to _that_ , it was more of a pleasant stroll through the woods, really.

Or, what she’d assumed one would be like. Growing up on Taris, ‘nature’ had barely been in Mission’s vocabulary. The closest experience in her memory was probably wandering from place to place in the quiet grasslands of Dantooine, and all things considered, that had actually felt sort of relaxing when they weren’t being attacked by kath hounds. Or walking through the sections where the sun beat down on all their eyes like the whole planet was trying to go into hyperspace.

Here, there was refreshing, cooling shade, and Mission was also pretty sure they wouldn’t be finding any kath hounds, but the hiss-like rustling she could hear through the treeline ahead told her this place probably had more than enough issues of its own.

They rounded the hooking curve in the forest path, and Revan _sighed_.

“So, it’s going to be one of _those_ planets.”

The three neon-green kinraths eagerly scuttled toward the newcomers, rearing back their upper bodies and central, stinging forelimbs. The lead creature stumbled and halted in its tracks, having been stunned with the force, and Mission took aim with her trusty Zabrak tystel mark III. The holographic targeting matrix appeared above the thin, olive-colored heavy pistol, and Mission fired a single shot, the kinrath immediately tumbling backwards in death.

Meanwhile, Revan darted out to the left, kicking up dirt as they lowered themselves into a slide past the nearer kinrath. A red saber blade swung through the dodge, severing three of the arthropod’s legs and leaving it prone for a follow-up backswing that relieved the small insectoid head of the connections to both its neck and stinger limb.

Zaalbar charged at the other flanking kinrath, Bacca’s blade held high and striking downward. The diagonal, cleaving blow caught in the joint of the stinger arm and managed to pull the creature off-balance in the moment before the weapon had completely cut through. The Wookiee followed up with a flurry of rapid strikes that ultimately cut the kinrath into several pieces.

Kinraths were annoyingly persistent, and especially dangerous if they were the venomous type, so they were best dealt with quickly. They were _also_ prone to show up just about anywhere in the galaxy that met the conditions of having both shade and plant life. Mission was pretty sure the Rakata were somehow behind that, too, whether they meant it or not.

On the bright side, this trip wouldn’t require wandering through the forest for too long. Mission had been chosen for stealth and streetwise, as they were expecting to need to navigate an unfamiliar cityscape to find what they were looking for – _and_ carry it back, which was part of the reason Zaalbar was along.

It was _slightly_ more of a plan than usual, Revan having long made a habit of walking blindly out onto planets with little more than the random factual trivia the other members of the crew happened to know off the top of their heads.

 _I haven’t met too many Neimoidians_ , Jolee had admitted, then continued anyway, _but if there’s one thing you should remember, it’s the hats. Neimoidians looooove their hats._

 _Statement: Neimoidians are evolutionarily related to the Duros_ , was HK-47’s contribution, the assassin droid’s ulterior motive barely hidden even from the start. _Qualification: However, the two species possess a wealth of biological distinctions, consequently prompting a series of notable differences between my personal preferred execution methods for each. Query: Would you like me to provide a list, Master?_

 _Cato Neimoidia is a civilization built among the rocks that rise from the inhospitable, acidic ocean that covers the entire planet_ , Canderous had explained in his usual grandiose, yet stealthily judgmental way of telling a story. _Despite their ingenuity on this particular world of theirs, however, the Neimoidians themselves are a lazy, confrontational, and egotistical species. They let their droids do the work for them, and reap the rewards while living in the lap of luxury. If you ask me, there’s a reason even their cities themselves are built to resemble giant hammocks._

As with most planets, Canderous’s advice was the closest to actually being helpful, and Mission tried not to think too hard about the fact he’d learned most of it through either _conquering_ those planets with the Mandalorians, or figuring out which planets would be useful as future conquests.

The path widened ahead, and the party approached the first clearing with caution. It was a small, relatively round area of bare forest floor, with only one clear path outward at the opposite end. Farther off to the right, the dark monotone brown-grey of the soil was interrupted by a beacon of faded white in the shape of a prone humanoid. Revan made a direct path toward the body, and Mission followed close behind, with Zaalbar at her left.

Whoever this abandoned corpse had once been, they were wearing heavy armor, including a bulky-looking dome helmet that flared downward to a wider set of canister-like shaping around the chin. The narrow visor cuts might have almost marked the helmet as Mandalorian, but instead of a connected line, the portions were split across the faceplate in what resembled an almost cartoonish, sad-angry face that was only _sort of_ intimidating. It apparently hadn’t been intimidating _enough_ , if the neat, rounded hole burned directly through the wearer’s heart was any indication.

Revan, of course, was already emptying the pockets on the body’s utility belt, curiously eyeing a set of round-cornered-rectangular, thin gold plates marked with credit codes.

“Well, these aren’t like any I’ve seen,” Revan observed, “Looks like there’s a chance our Republic credits might not be good here. Maybe I should’ve asked Canderous.”

“We should probably keep those handy, then,” Mission agreed, taking several of the small cards as Revan began handing them out. “And hope we find a few more before we make it to the cliffside.”

“And try not to run into whoever shot this poor soul,” Revan added, though their words faded to careful consideration as their gaze lingered several more seconds on the injury.

“So…” Mission pondered aloud, slightly hesitant, as the walk started up again, “what do you think… that _was_ , the anomaly I mean? As far as I can tell, it didn’t do anything to us or the ship, but… I guess it just still has me worried, is all.”

“If you both and Canderous hadn’t seen it too, I would’ve guessed it was a Force vision,” Revan began with a light shrug. “As it stands, my leading theory is some sort of message left by an ancient civilization, meant for the crews of passing ships. Those glyphs around the gateways could all have stories to tell, in a pictogram-based language long-forgotten.”

White lines in a void of black didn’t seem like too clear of a message, but Revan had a point about the glyphs, even if they hadn’t ended up seeing very many of them, relatively. “Maybe, but if it wanted us to read them all we were probably supposed to stay a bit longer. It seemed pretty eager to throw us back out of there.”

“Some type of defense mechanism?” Revan guessed. “It still might’ve changed its mind and decided we were unworthy.”

“I guess so…”

 _Whatever it is, we should probably leave it be_ , Zaalbar decided with a low warble. _We don’t exactly have the best history with ancient technology._

“Maybe that _is_ the best plan,” Revan reluctantly acknowledged, “but _knowing_ that track record of ours, we’ll probably get dragged into something to do with it sooner or later, if we haven’t already. For now, though, we should probably focus on our more immediate problem.”

“Yeah… not like we’d be figuring out much with a grounded ship, anyway,” Mission ended the thought with a shrug, her smile returning as she took another moment of quiet to take in the fullness and life of her surroundings. So far, she guessed this place would be ranking pretty high on the long list of planets she’d now had the chance to travel to, kinrath or not.

The three of them continued down the path, fighting through another group of the bug-like creatures that had been camped out between a pair of tall, obscuring boulders. Just before the next clearing, Revan stopped to loot another pair of bodies wearing identical armor to the first, though the ragged tears and rougher punctures in those two’s suits made it easy to guess they’d been kinrath food rather than target practice.

Was… _that_ what kinrath did to their prey? Mission could never really tell whether or not they had mouths, did they just suck people dry with their proboscis-things? She counted herself thankful the armor kept that question mostly unanswered.

Revan slowly pried an intact blaster from the grasp of one of the bodies. It wasn’t a specific make Mission had seen before, but it still looked fairly standard build for a blaster rifle. Revan tested it out, aiming for one of the kinrath corpses behind them, only for the shot to fly wide and glance off the rock to the left side of the path.

“Yeah…” Revan muttered with an exhausted smirk, shaking their head and stowing the weapon firmly away in their travel pack. “Something tells me we’re going to be selling a _lot_ of these.”

There was one more pack of kinrath in the final clearing, and by that point, Revan had resorted to knocking all five of them backward with a Force wave. Mission picked off two as they scrambled to their feet, and Revan threw out their red-bladed lightsaber to spin in a horizontal, cutting disc that traveled fatally through the remaining three.

At first glance the clearing appeared to have, in addition to the straight-ahead, northward route, two more branches running farther off to the east and west, but after a few dozen meters, the tree cover on either side path grew _just_ too dense to navigate and be able to reliably find a return route.

“I am coming _back_ here, with a _map_ ,” Revan declared with frustration, begrudgingly retracing the party’s steps to take the path leading ahead.

  


* * *

  


The _Upper Forest_ was even more of a zig-zag path than the lower, the relatively level trails winding back and forth to ascend the gradual, sloping hill. There were a few more intense patches of light shining down from above, and Mission glanced upward just as a large, black-feathered bird could be seen circling through a gap in the trees overhead.

Moments later though, tensions set in as faint, gruff voices echoed through the trees, resounding from farther up the hill. Mission readied her tystel in one hand, listening to pinpoint the source as the three of them made quiet, careful steps forward.

It was on a sharp, left-rounding turn that they spotted the reason for the disturbance. Four of the white-armored soldiers stood in a flanking square around a man in a grey military suit, black gloves and boots, and a reverse-brimmed, head-guarding, reflective officer’s helmet. The officer’s blaster pistol and his escort’s blaster rifles were all trained on a slender, mostly tan droid of an unknown but vaguely humanoid make. There were two more of the same model already collapsed on the ground, shot apart with blaster bolts, though from what Mission could tell, they were missing the brownish-red accents of the one that was still standing, crossing from shoulder to shoulder with a thin horizontal line at the lower edge of its upper chestplate. The intact droid was backed against the treeline at the outer end of the path’s curve, with both its simplistically-constructed, three-digited hands held high in surrender.

“Now, security…” the Human officer began, his voice edged with overtly fake politeness as he interrogated the panicked, fearful droid. “I think you can tell me what I want to know. I _already_ know there are more of you, so if you would, please… the _location_ of your operations center.”

“Well…” The droid incrementally lowered its hands, but still didn’t drop them completely below its strange, arrow-shaped head. The two small, dark lenses interrupted by slanted, inverse eye-slits on the elongated narrow front flare that formed its faceplate seemed to be eyeing the officer suspiciously, as if it had actually been partially swayed by the mock-pleasantness. “ _Waaaiiit_ a minute… how do I know you’re not gonna just shoot me once I tell you?”

“You _don’t_ ,” the officer stated coldly, and at that point, Mission would’ve bet the odds at fifty-fifty he would have shot the droid then and there, if he hadn’t heard the rustling dirt and dried leaves Revan made no attempt to soften as the party now boldly approached the squad from behind.

“This is _Imperial_ business, _move along_ ,” the officer spat like a frustrated insult as he rounded, his four armored companions all turning their weapons on the newcomers at once.

Revan stood their ground, crossing their arms with an eyebrow arched over the top of their interface visor. “And, what exactly is Imperial business?”

The officer smirked with a _hmph_ gesture. “None of _yours_.”

“That would well and truly be a first,” Revan snarked idly, “It looks to me like you’re intimidating this _poor, defenseless_ droid. Now, is there any chance I’m wrong here? I just want to make _sure_.”

“All remaining battle droids are to be deactivated on sight,” the officer hissed, possibly sensing the implied threat, “by order of the _Emperor_ himself.”

Revan _laughed_.

“The Emperor is _tragically_ in no position to be making orders, I’ll have you know. But that also sounds uncomfortably like genocide so I think I have to kill you now.”

Revan’s red-bladed saber was already spinning around the battlefield, leaving deep, glowing gashes in three of the officer’s armored escort before the purple saber had even turned on.

Zaalbar took bounding strides as he rushed into the fray, several blaster bolts singing his fur as he brought up Bacca’s blade and left a deep, diagonal gash through one soldier’s plastoid torso plating.

Mission ducked behind a tree and waited for her opening. Sure enough, one of the armored soldiers was stumbling, stunned, away from a glancing saber blow, and Mission lined up a shot that cracked him in the helmet and knocked him to the forest floor with a dying groan. She took a grazing shot to the shoulder for her trouble, holding in a grunt of pain as she ducked farther around her pillar of cover, but her next shot caught the culprit in the midsection, causing him to double over just in time to be impaled by a whirling, violet-bladed saber.

The underlings dealt with, Zaalbar spun for a horizontal cleave into the officer’s lower back at the same time Revan mirrored the attack with both of their sabers. The officer stumbled forward as Revan ended their swing with an offhand red saber twirl, but was still standing when Mission’s blaster bolt caught him painfully in the neck and Zaalbar’s reversing, upward cut dealt the killing blow by carving neatly through the left side of his ribcage.

Calling on the force, Revan gathered healing energy around the entire party, and Mission felt the pain in her shoulder fade and slowly vanish.

“Ahhh! Jedi!” The droid sputtered, cowering behind its defensively-crossed forearms. Its voice was high-pitched and droning all at once, almost throaty or rasping in its strained but surprisingly expressive monotony.

Revan watched the display of cowardice for another long moment. “I’m not here to kill you.”

“…You’re not?” The droid looked hopefully, if disbelievingly, from between its thin arms, then let its entire upper body fall relaxedly limp. “Well _phew_ , _that’s_ a relief.”

“I just have a few questions for you,” Revan continued with both reluctance and resigned curiosity.

“Questions?” The droid asked somewhat worriedly. “Well… I _guess_ it can’t hurt…”

Mission backed up to lean against a nearby tree, feeling the tension ease from her shoulders as her pistol hand fell lazily to near her hip. Might as well get comfortable…

“Why were you being interrogated?” Revan began simply.

“They’re trying to find where we’ve been hiding out,” the droid explained, “a few of us malfunctioned and failed to respond to the deactivation signal, and stayed online when we weren’t supposed to. They’ve been sending out those patrols ever since, but I ain’t tellin’ them _nothing_.”

“Do you know where I could find some repulsor shielding?”

The droid was unsurprisingly taken aback by the sudden topic change, but took a moment to ponder the question. “There’s the scrapyard by the cliff, but you’re not gonna find _me_ going anywhere near there.”

“Do you have any maps of the area?”

“Uhh… you’d probably have to ask that at the trading post on the cliffside. We have sensor data, but we don’t really give that out to just anyone.” The droid pointed a stern finger. “ _Especially_ not a Jedi.”

“Who are these soldiers in the armor?”

“The stormtroopers?” The droid again looked both confused and relieved. “They say they work for the Empire now, but as far as we’re concerned, it’s just the same old battle it’s always been. Except I guess if you’re a Jedi, you should probably steer clear of them too, now. _That_ was fun to watch.”

“Where _are_ you hiding out?”

“Ha! You think I’m gonna tell _you_ , Jedi?”

The droid paused as it actually considered its own words, looking up at Revan with clear alarm and probably expecting the worst. This was one of those times Revan could have easily leaned into intimidation to get the droid to say more, but unsurprisingly, they let the moment pass.

“Alright… I think I’ll be going now,” Revan decided with a resigned slackening of their shoulders.

“Well… okay then…” the droid sputtered somewhat disbelievingly, but decided not to take its chances and rushed off in a high-stepping, clanking jog. It soon disappeared among the high ferns that had started to become prevalent as they ascended this far up the slope.

It wasn’t the _weirdest_ conversation the _Ebon Hawk_ crew had had in their travels, but Mission still got the sense that several key details had been skipped over. To be fair, though, you couldn’t really expect every planet’s inhabitants to account for how little research you did before you got there. Sometimes you just had to work it out as you went along.

Besides, there’d always be the next conveniently-timed ambush victim in need of rescue, on-the-clock Czerka employee in need of having their time wasted, or hurried, inattentive passerby in need of being pulled aside for unsolicited social interaction.

There were two more Imperial patrols in the upper forest: three stormtroopers each. Those ones attacked on sight, which honestly made dealing with them a bit less frustrating. Their plastoid armor really did seem useless for its weight class, and concussion grenades worked on them with an almost 100% success rate – the crew were _still_ sitting on the stockpile of the darn things that had turned out to be next-to-useless on the Star Forge.

At the top of the hill, the trees gave way to a grassy field extending about a hundred or so meters to the cliff edge. It was actually sort of unsettling when the party managed to walk all the way through it without being accosted by another enemy patrol or some wild animal with a death wish – not even when Revan put away their lightsabers and solo-backtracked through a few longer stretches in case of cloaked Mandalorian raiders. The most interesting sight to break the monotony was a domed pile of shimmering, sapphire blue wreckage hidden in a stray patch of taller grass - it turned out to be some kind of broken-down, beetle-shaped harvester droid, and Revan took a few quiet minutes to repair it and send it on its way.

It was only once the three of them actually got closer to the cliff edge that the bridge city came into view far below, the anchor cables connected at a point slightly farther to the east along the ridge and several hundred meters down. Sheer silver and ornate gold made up most of the city’s visible surfaces, the line of buildings down the center rising up like a parallel divider and crowned in places with variable-height spires with wide, disc-like observation decks. Other buildings were enclosed in gold support frames almost like ribcages, with tall, arch-topped windows spaced between the columns. A tram-like shuttle departed from a hangar opening near the landing pads on the nearer, western edge, passing through several distantly-hovering acceleration frames as it cut a curved path around the plateau and presumably out toward another, farther away bridge.

Not everything was so uniformly elegant, though. A few sections of the city looked like they’d been patched over in a conspicuously dull shade of light grey, more utilitarian and sinister watchtowers marking the intrusions of far less ornate construction. At about the midpoint of the bridge, the city was parted by a massive, rectangular fortress with sheer walls and four large towers rising from each corner. Enclosed walkways created another suspended square linking the towers’ windowed observation decks, with the portions containing the sharper spire points continuing ominously farther upward like the turrets of a castle.

“Six hours, tops,” Revan spoke simply, eyes locked on the same building.

“Please,” Mission teased with a smirk. “Definitely by the end of the day, but no sooner than _eight_. That city’s pretty big down there and it’ll take us a while on travel time alone.”

 _Never_ , Zaalbar cemented with a low groan. _I intend to leave this place with what we came here for, without provoking further hostilities_.

“Yeah, us too,” countered Mission, “but when has _that_ ever worked?”


	2. Is it still impersonating an officer if you do their job better?

After standing for several moments near the boulders and rock formations that marked the edge of the grassland, the party followed along the cliff edge to the east until they approached the area directly above the cable anchor.

It was there that they finally caught sight of the trading post, the small set of durasteel structures recessed into what would’ve probably been called a sinkhole if it was sunken into enough land to fully surround it. The whole area was roughly a half-circle-shaped chip taken out of the cliffside, with a single line of buildings running around the curved inner edge. A metal walkway ran in front of them at the floor level of what seemed to actually be the second story of each two-story structure. Ultimately, the path formed something like an anchor shape, with a straight section connecting to the middle of the curve and extending a perpendicular ‘dock’ out toward the actual edge of the cliff.

Catching Mission's eye immediately, the bulky objects that filled in most of the empty space in the interior of the curve were four large, apparently air-capable vehicles, two to each side of that central dock and connected to it by small boarding ramps. The difference in level between the barren, rocky surface below and the upper walkway was evidently required for easy access to the passenger sections of the transport ferries, as owing to their unique landing gear, the small, mostly flat, fighter-sized ships stood an entire story off the ground.

Above the four sharpened, broad but panel-thin legs in a crablike quadruped stance, and to either side of the wider, slightly curved-in-front flat plate that formed the main chassis of each, they actually looked closer to perched reptilian flyers, by the way several probably flight-necessary, rectangular sections of the leg plating were carefully articulated and arranged out of the way like the wings in that folded flimsi bird trick Carth had once shown her.

The passenger sections were lined with low, aerodynamically-slanted walls and small railings, and each of the surrounded base floors featured two forward-facing rows of seating – four seats in back, and only three seats up front to accommodate the longer row of eleven inward-facing seats that ran from corner to corner on the forward curve. Two vaguely diamond-shaped modules stuck their backward points out past each ferry’s stern – the right-side ones all featuring a pilot’s chair and controls dug out of a once-domed roof, while the left-side counterparts seemed solely to house whatever internal machinery required a bulkier storage space.

“Guess that’s our way to the city, if we don’t find what we need here,” Mission remarked, already curious about what it might be like to ride in one of the strange flying machines.

On the east side of the small settlement, and parallel with the edge of the cut, a descending ramp of dirt and rock served as an access road down to the trading post, depositing the party at the easternmost end of the main stretch of walkway. By the slightly-differing heights and styles of the mass of structures behind, and the presence of evenly-spaced doorways, there appeared to be seven different buildings all sharing the large curve. The first two doors were locked, the buildings either closed or unoccupied, but the third door was open, and naturally, Revan walked right in.

It was a small interior space, with two display tables each set against the side walls and a long counter blocking access to the back. Behind the counter, a Neimoidian sat with his hands crossed just beside a sales monitor, taut and wrinkled green-grey skin stretching with his movements as he glanced up with surprise at his newest visitors.

“Ah, and what brings you to my… _stylistically modest_ establishment?”

His face was a lot like those of the Duros that Mission had seen frequently on Taris and other planets across the galaxy, but instead of leaning toward red, the shopkeeper’s eyes were bronze-orange, and the features that could only be described as black squiggle lines crossing them horizontally were bolder, like the cloud strata of a gas giant. He wore a simple, gold-bronze tunic, and set upon his head was a conical, warhead-shaped helmet in dark metal.

“What is this place?” Revan queried semi-absently, their gaze taking in the objects of various type strewn about the tables and farthest corners of the counter. There appeared to be medical equipment, food rations, hiking boots and other clothing items, as well as some smaller tools and mechanical parts – clearly nothing large enough for ship repair.

The Neimoidian seemed just slightly offended, but far more eager to sell. “This is my general store! My family has done business for generations, running one of the premier suppliers in Ylahv City!”

“You supply a whole city with this shop?” Revan asked, the innocence of the question probably leaving a sharper sting than any sarcasm would have.

“Well… no…” the Neimoidian admitted.

“Who are you?” Revan asked instead.

“Sirbo Var,” the shopkeeper introduced, holding his hands out in a gesture that included the store’s small wealth of merchandise. “I’m afraid this is rather a pittance of an operation as far as the Var name goes, but this trading post doesn’t tend to see many interested faces.”

“Why build a shop up here, then?”

Sirbo became wary, then, putting up a stern defense. “It’s… not a decision one takes lightly, nor a matter to be so openly discussed. I sincerely hope you’ll understand my discretion.”

Revan sighed in disappointment, but didn’t press further. “Let me see what you have for sale.”

“Very well.” Sirbo gestured to the wares again. “Take a look.”

“Oh, and how much can I get for these?” Revan added, pointing across to Zaalbar’s armful of Imperial blasters.

Sirbo’s eyes widened suddenly, as if the weapons hadn’t been in plain view the entire time. “Oh, no, no! I can’t be taking _those_ here!”

Revan stared coldly. “You mean I… _can’t_ just sell you any convenient objects of questionable value I happen across in my travels?”

Mission tactfully decided not to mention that, judging by the shopkeeper’s haphazard inventory, it certainly looked like a fair number of people had already been doing exactly that. By Revan’s clear skepticism, they’d probably had the same thought.

“No, I’ll… pay fairly for anything I find of interest, of course,” Sirbo admitted with a bit of a disappointed sigh, “but the Empire is a no-go. I don’t even want to know where you got them!” The Neimoidan rubbed his chin, considered something for a few seconds as his eyes narrowed. “I think _Ibri_ deals in those sorts of wares. Take it to _him_ if you must, but not me!”

That peaked Revan’s curiosity. “And where might I find this Ibri person?”

“Ibri Zucar,” Sirbo elaborated, “that Rodian who runs the ferry service to Ylahv City. If he’s not in his front office, he’ll be waiting out on the pier by those refitted droids of his. You can’t miss him.”

“Alright… do you have any maps of the area?”

Sirbo gave Revan the usual odd look. “No… that scrap dealer goes on excursions, though. Bolka Larko I think? Ithorian down the other end of the path.”

Revan thought for a longer moment. “Do you know anywhere I can play Pazaak?”

“…You mean Sabaac?” Sirbo prodded skeptically.

“No, like the card game,” Revan corrected, “or Swoop racing? Do they have that here?”

Sirbo gave Revan an even longer, concerned stare. “They play _Sabaac_ in the casinos down in the city. Not much racing here of any kind, though.”

“Oh, that’s too bad then. Hey, maybe we could start one!”

Normally, Revan might have bought a medpac or two on principle, but they still didn’t know how many credits they’d need for the repulsor shielding, so the party left the shop after the round of questions.

Or… they _tried_ to, only for Sirbo to call out to them suddenly.

“Wait! I just remembered!” the Neimoidan shouted, prompting Revan and the others to turn back around just as they reached the door.

He was waving a small, strange-looking, square-shaped device above his head.

“You seem like someone who might be interested in this exceedingly _rare_ find,” Sirbo explained more slowly, with skeptical, wary eyes darting about to emphasize some sort of illicit nature to the item for sale. “This… _Republic_ datapad was found discarded in the woods on this very plateau, and it is so heavily encrypted that not even _I_ know what _valuable secrets_ it may contain. All within could be yours and yours alone, for the _very_ reasonable price of… one-hundred-fifty credits! A good deal, is it not, for something that may prove to be worth an _indescribable_ fortune?”

“That… is not what we’re looking for at all,” Revan decided.

They then, however, went on to ponder the object for several long moments before ultimately slumping their shoulders and letting out a heavy sigh in resignation.

“…But it _does_ look ominously important, so we might as well get it out of the way now. Sirbo Var, you have a deal.”

They left the shop a hundred and fifty Imperial credits poorer, but with one mysterious, slightly-weathered datapad that refused to power up even after a few seconds of walking and tinkering.

The next door down, directly across from the central pier, was also locked, but the signage marked it as the office of Ibri’s ferry service. Another Neimoidian and a Zabrak stood across the path at the walkway’s only intersection, engaged in conversation until Revan and the others approached.

“You need a flight to Ylahv?” the Neimoidian asked, scratching his head. He was wearing a brown pilot’s cap with goggles, the flexible lenses down over his marble-like eyes, and his attitude already seemed a lot more laid-back and at ease than the shopkeeper’s. “Don’t know where you came from, this is the only way up or down unless you climbed… _that_ would be impressive, actually.”

“…Maybe later,” Revan replied, readying to leave. “I have some more business here first.”

“Safe travels, then,” the Neimoidian wished with a wave. “If you change your mind, talk to Ibri, he’s just down at the end there.”

“Hey… where’d you get that gun?”

Mission paused at the second voice, running through the party’s visible armaments in her head and also noting the use of the singular. Sure enough, when she turned around, the pale-rose-colored Zabrak had a strange, curious look on her face as she pointed toward the tystel at the Twi’lek’s hip.

“Kashyyyk, I think,” Mission replied with an awkward shrug, casually unclipping the weapon from her belt and holding it with the barrel averted and one of the flat sides up. “Might’ve been in the Czerka stores, or somewhere in the shadowlands maybe. I don’t really remember.”

“Mark III tystel, right? That’s… _old_.” The Zabrak furrowed her brow, the motion pulling at the mauve, vine-like strands of her facial tattoos. “You’re walking around with an _antique_ , there.”

“Seems to do pretty good against those stormtroopers,” Mission boasted with a smirk, hands to her hips with a slight sway in her stance.

The Zabrak let loose a light chuckle. “Now _that_ I don’t actually doubt. Zabrak engineering always was as reliable as you’d ever need, even back in the day. If it _works_ , it works.”

Mission smiled a little at the woman’s pointed grin, then rushed to catch up with the others, who’d stalled just a bit ahead on the path toward the other end of the curve.

Those tattoos were… nice.

_…Do I have a thing for tattoos?_

If the conversation with Bolka Larko was a bit of a blur, Mission was confident she’d at least picked up on the important points. Unfortunately, the small indoor scrapyard didn’t have any freighter-class repulsor shielding, mostly just droid parts and a few smaller components from starfighters and gunships. They _did_ , however, manage to obtain some rudimentary survey maps the Ithorian had taken of the plateau, though he stressed that they were incomplete, for good reason.

“That eastern path leads into _droid_ territory,” Bolka explained in warning. “Any salvage in those parts isn’t worth the trouble. The Imperials have been trying to clear them out, but no such luck, I’m afraid.” The Ithorian’s wide-set eyes narrowed slightly as they considered Revan for several moments. “You look the type who could handle that kind of fight, though. I’ll tell you what. If there’s any way you could deal with those droids, there might be good money in it.”

Revan ignored the offer and pressed on. “And the west path? Are there more droids there too?”

Bolka shook his head. “No, no droids, just some difficult-to-cross rocky hills and an old hermit with a strong dislike for people who ask too many questions. If you could get _him_ to leave, and deactivate the force field he keeps near his place of residence, there’s a whole side of the plateau I could access, but, and I truly mean little by it, I don’t think even _you_ could do that.”

Revan elbowed Mission with a smirk. “Sound like anyone we know?”

The Twi’lek would admit having spared a slight chuckle at Jolee’s expense, even if her desire to keep focus was still struggling fiercely.

There was one last person of import to talk to: Ibri Zucar. Even more so now that, without access to the proper parts in the smaller trading post, they actually _would_ need passage down to the city. Bolka had reluctantly recommended a competitor there with a larger inventory, though he seemed convinced he might still get his worth out of the deal after giving Revan the maps.

Mission was more concerned with the fact they’d have to walk past the Zabrak again. She put a genuine effort into keeping her eyes locked ahead, but ended up sparing _just_ enough of a glance to realize that _yes_ , there were tattoo lines on her hands that ran up into her sleeves, and some on her neckline that seemed to continue downward.

She also could’ve sworn the woman smiled at her, though if that _had_ happened, it thankfully felt more like an aside tease than an invitation. The former would at least gave Mission time enough to put the whole thing out of her head, before she was needed for anything important.

“You need ride? Ibri always glad to see new faces!”

The Rodian was teal-skinned, with excitable, reflective onyx eyes, wearing a bright red flightsuit with segmented padding running down the yellow sleeves. A small, grey fabric pouch was slung over his right shoulder and buckled into the straps of his suit to keep his hands free – hands that were now held forward and out to the sides in enthusiastic greeting.

“I do need to get down to the city,” Revan acknowledged, “but I have some other questions first.”

“Sure thing, then,” the Rodian nodded along, eyes subtly brightening as he looked over the three newcomers, “Ibri happy to help… and would it have anything to do with those blasters, there?”

“It might. I hear you’re buying.”

There was a radiant, yet subtle approval to the shift in Ibri’s posture. “Ibri never know,” he began faux-innocently. “Maybe these things come in handy some time soon. Maybe Ibri also likes seeing so many without the hands holding them. Not that Ibri cares where those hands are now. I give you fair price,” Ibri concluded with a nod.

The deal was made. One hundred Imperial credits for each blaster rifle, and three hundred for the officer’s pistol.

Afterwards, the three of them took the front row of forward-facing seats for the ride down to the city, Ibri behind and to their right as he worked the controls. An unexpectedly fast jolt of motion brought the vehicle several meters higher in the air as the sections with the paneled legs rotated ninety degrees and magnetically snap-locked into two pairs of forward-pointing flight struts.

The curving path of motion set them into a long descent toward the level of the bridge, and brought them out and around toward the row of landing platforms along the west side. Moisture-heavy winds were cool on Mission’s skin in the open-air carriage, a pleasant feeling in the afternoon sun that worked well with the heavy breathing the Twi’lek was relying on to clear her mind.

Zaalbar nonetheless felt the need to warble a note of concern, which set back Mission’s progress about thirty seconds overall.

“I’m _fine_ , Big Z. It’s just… _the height_ , is all.”

Another soft growl.

“No, I’m not _jittery_ ,” the Twi-lek assured with an offended glare.

Revan mumbled something under their breath, prompting a very startled Mission to round quickly at the unintelligible noise. “What?” she nearly shouted, eyes wide.

“I _said_ …” Revan half-whispered, visor locked on the distant scenery outside the ferry in an attempt to hide their smirk. “…mauve _is_ a nice color.”

… _Oh, you little shit._

  


* * *

  


The entry port let out into a wide, metallic roadway running north-south along the outer edge of the city. While smaller, free-standing store fronts were interspaced with the landing pads on the nearer side, there were larger, contiguous ones built into the street level of the sheer wall of gold metal that was directly across, smaller alcoves apparently leading to an internal network of corridors within. The immediate, ground-level area had more pedestrians than speeders, and like the few people they’d seen at the trading post, they weren’t all Neimoidians. Those that _were_ , though, all seemed partial to various personalized headgear, ranging from practical helmets to ornate headdresses bordering on flamboyant.

 _You’re kidding me. Jolee was_ right _about the hat thing_. 

That larger, clearly Imperial fortress was only a few blocks off the left turn, and Mission took a few moments to scout out possible infiltration routes. With their luck, the only way to get the repulsor plating _would_ be some long and ridiculous chain of favors that would end with recovering a sensor probe the Imperials had stolen and were keeping inside.

In the other direction, Mission could already see the scrapyard’s sign from _here_ , sticking out of a building on the right side of the street at what she’d guessed was around a thirty-second walk from the ferry pad. Unsurprisingly, however, hers and Zaalbar’s next thirty minutes were spent trailing behind a busily meandering Revan, as the three zig-zagged in and out of every building within reasonable distance and half-started conversations with some very clearly disinterested locals.

“I really need to get back to watering my garden,” a frustrated, helmet-wearing Neimoidian had announced with a condescending glare. “These days my _beautiful_ botanical garden takes _hours_ to maintain! How am I supposed to live like this?”

“These Neimoidians, always looking for new hands, but _no_ idea how to set proper wages,” a particularly grumpy Duros had replied when asked about the off-worlder presence in the city. “Too used to their droids waiting on them hand and slimy foot, we thought there was good work here, but only the truly desperate stay longer than a day.”

“I never trusted droids, I tell you!” One Neimoidian shopkeeper seemed unable to resist spouting, while Revan force-persuaded him into buying armfuls of situationally-irrelevant goods. “All my work, done with sweat and muscle since day one! This Empire is good for business, good for me! You’ll see, one day I’ll be _running_ this city, and they’ll even give me my own Star Destroyer! What do you think of that!”

“Hey, have… you seen a hatchery?” A crouching, skittish Human whispered conspiratorially, before running screaming into the distance unprompted. “They’ve got _hatcheries_ , man!”

“You, there!” A desperate-sounding Neimoidian in a three-point crown had called out unbidden from the sidewalk. “You look like someone who could stage a _daring_ rescue. My, erm… _companion_ was recently abducted by the Empire! I simply can’t go another day without her, you see, and she was a rather expensive model besides. I spent _quite a bit of_ —wait, no! Why are you backing away like that!?”

  


* * *

  


Glad for a longer moment to rest her legs, Mission absently kicked off the bar counter at an angle, waiting for the repulsor mount in her chair to spin her back into place.

Revan had talked their way into what seemed to be the only high-class casino with a street-level entrance – you could tell it was high-class because their fried protatoes were cut into cubes and had seasoning instead of breading – and miraculously, had found someone here willing to play Pazaak for stakes. _That_ meant Mission and Zaalbar were about to have a good twenty minutes or so to themselves, and the latter had elected to spend that time scarfing down several servings of the previously-noted protato cubes.

Not that Mission hadn’t partaken her own fair share. Even those three and a half years later, there was a part of her that hadn’t quite managed to kick the habit of taking full advantage of food while it was in front of her, because growing up in the Lower City, it wouldn’t _always_ be.

These days, though, Revan tended to bring in enough legally or illegally obtained credits to keep the crew living comfortably _and_ keep being able to do nice things for strangers while pointedly accepting as few rewards as possible. More than anything, Mission now found it a bit ironic that her self-serving brother had always been the one looking to get rich quick.

An eager elbow from Zaalbar pulled Mission from her thoughts – which was generally a good thing any time she was about to start thinking about Griff. The Wookiee bore a suspiciously wide, toothy grin as he gestured his flexible neck in the direction of one of the farther tables along the wall.

Engaged in what seemed to be a calm, classy business dinner, a red-toned Devaronian in a sharp, tailored, sleeveless vest was gesturing expressively with his bare arms, exposing the stylistic aurebesh script tattooed extensively from his wrists to his shoulders.

“Ha, ha,” Mission droned with an eye-roll, slackening as Zaalbar let out a slight chuckle from behind her. “Joke’s on you, Big Z. That’s not even my _type_.”

Zaalbar stopped laughing.

_Wait._

A wide-eyed Mission nervously twisted back around on the barstool, feeling the easing strain of the repulsors as the seat returned to its standard alignment. “That’s not… an _issue_ … or…”

Zaalbar gave her a strange side-eye, then a low, annoyed yet reassuring groan. _Of course not, Mission, but it took you long enough to admit it_.

First reluctantly, then contentedly, Mission made herself comfortable in the shaggy arm that pulled around her shoulders. “Just didn’t seem important, I guess.”

 _But it is_ , Zaalbar murmured softly. _It is always important, to know more about yourself, and the possibilities now opened to you_.

It… _did_ feel nice. Sort of a giddy feeling, and a smiling, calming, easing warmth in her thoughts that wouldn’t go away, but Mission was pretty sure these kinds of things were supposed to be more dramatic than that.

And why, in the back of her mind, did acknowledging her feelings and putting them into a category feel just a bit like putting a new weight on her shoulders?”

 _And it is a great step to be made_ , Zaalbar continued almost musically, _to know what sort of soul will bring you lifelong happiness, when you one day choose to forge such a bond_.

Okay, _no_ , now _that_ was…

“This _better_ not be some play to set me up so you can run off without feeling guilty!”

She felt Zaalbar still, and immediately the venom left her eyes, a shudder coursing through her as she pulled away enough to link a pair of near-equally shocked gazes.

“I didn’t—”

 _I know_ , Zaalbar acknowledged with a low trill.

Mission sighed, and crossed her arms on the table, guiltily hanging her head. “Sorry, Big Z. I didn’t really _mean_ it like that, I just… it’s just… I don’t know if I’m ready to think about all that. I have _you_ , and life on the ship, and exploring the galaxy, and helping… you know, _lots_ of people, not just…”

A heavy hand tapped again on her shoulder, settling to rest there.

“I guess I still don’t really understand how one person is supposed to be more important than any of that.” Mission shrugged, shifting again, not exactly facing Zaalbar but maneuvering into position to keep playing idly with the stool’s repulsorlift. “ _Eh_ , I’ve got time, I’ll figure it out.”

It was at that point that Revan approached, taking a nearby stool and flashing out a fan of Imperial credits, gold glinting in the bar’s warm lighting.

“Think _this_ should be enough to get out of here with that plating, plus some net gain on the side?”

  


* * *

  


Finally, they reached the scrapyard, which promisingly turned out to be a relatively small, dimly lit storefront with a larger, walled-off, open-air courtyard accessible through a door in the back. A Neimoidian with a headlamp-bearing construction helmet rested boredly at the counter along the left-side wall, slouched with arms crossed over the desk until he heard Revan and the others enter.

“Ah, and what can Udalo Fannac do for these off-worlders, eh? Looking for droid parts, I’ve got plenty. Not too many of the processors, though. Imperials don’t let those things sit around, but anything else, Udalo’s got you covered.”

“Actually, I’m looking for freighter-class repulsor shielding,” Revan said.

“An odd choice,” Udalo admitted, “but I think I might have just what you’re looking for in the back.”

Udalo left through the back door, then returned towing a hover-sled that carried a stack of curved metal plates, roughly a meter square each.

“Normally, I’d offer to have my droids load this up for you,” Udalo began again as he returned to the counter, tapping through the monitors to calculate pricing, “but the Imperials have made things… _difficult_ for just about everyone.”

Then, he directed an aside nod to Zaalbar.

“I assume your slave will be handling transport?”

There was a long, tense moment where no one said a word, Mission scowled fiercely, Zaalbar bared his teeth, and finally, a red saber blade ignited between Revan and the counter.

“…Let’s _pretend_ you didn’t just say that,” Revan warned, an evil smile cast aglow in the crimson light from the blade.

Udalo looked like he’d just seen Ajunta Pall, his planet-eyes opened to the shape of full spheres in the moment before he ducked completely behind the counter and disappeared into some sort of trapdoor hatch in the floor.

“Take whatever you want!” He called out, muffled, from a compartment underneath the shop.

“I…” Revan deactivated the saber, and held out the credits they’d counted out in their other hand. They leaned fully over the counter, searching around behind it for several seconds, then stood back up, bewildered. “I was… actually still going to pay you…”

Only further silence answered, and Revan finally allowed their shoulders to fall slack in defeat, turning to face Mission and Zaalbar with the credits still held in the air.

“To be totally and completely fair… I _tried_.”

They left the shop with the full stack of shielding panels and the same number of credits they’d entered with.

Mission stayed close to Zaalbar, even as they passed through the relatively small doorway. Despite everything Revan and the crew had done for Kashyyyk, before they arrived there had already been countless Wookiees bought and sold as slaves all over the galaxy. Now it was three years later, and, well… there might _always_ be places where being desirable as slaves was all anyone would ever think of the whole species.

It had always gone unspoken between Mission and Zaalbar that they had that in common. Neither of them ever really forgot it.

And of course, just when Mission was starting to think the worst was over – they _had_ the repulsor shielding, and they’d barely needed to do anything to get it – one of the galaxy’s ever-dependable coincidences dropped out of nowhere to stop them in their tracks.

Civilians hurriedly cleared to either side of the main road as one struggling Neimoidian was pushed flat to his back in the center of it, three blaster rifles aimed squarely at his chest from above.

“I _swear _, I don’t know anything about any Jedi!”__

____

“Just between you and me, I don’t really _care_ ,” the lead stormtrooper growled through his helmet, looming threateningly over the elderly man as his guard to either side held their weapons steady.

____

There were a dozen in total, the rest of the Imperial patrol having formed a three-file line behind the lead and his two flanks. A few of the others swept their blasters briefly toward the crowd, daring anyone to defy their authority.

____

“My problem, you see, is I’ve _already sent_ a report about rumors of a Jedi hiding out on this acid-drenched rock,” the lead trooper continued, pressing the barrel of his blaster to the Neiomoidian’s skull. “So if _you_ don’t speak up, maybe somebody else will, once they see the _consequences_ of defying the Empire.”

____

“Please! Please don’t kill me!”

____

“… _Stay here_ ,” Revan whispered, their right hand already reaching for their saber.

____

Mission was conflicted, but on an unfamiliar planet with a new and not-fully-understood group of enemies, she ultimately felt she should at least voice her concern. “Don’t you think this might be a bad idea?”

____

“Oh, I’m _sure_ it’s a _terrible_ idea,” Revan admitted with a smile. “Why do you think I’m trying it by myself first?”

____

With no time for any further debate, Revan stepped boldly out into the street.

____

“Oh, so you call yourselves _storm_ -troopers, do you?”

____

The red lightsaber roared to life in their right hand, and Mission could already see the blue-purple cackle of electricity building in their left.

____

The stormtroopers turned at the sound, took one look at Revan, and…

____

… _groveled_.

____

Or, at least the lead trooper did, dropping to a _full kneel_ while the his flankers shrunk into their shoulders, and the rest turned their helmets quickly between one another in something of an immediate, widespread panic.

____

“Oh, _Lord Inquisitor_ ,” the leader began, awestruck. “You’re… you’re _early_.”

____

Revan paused mid-stride, looking confusedly down at the pathetic-looking trooper.

____

The man had his helmet tilted so low that those triangular eye-holes probably revealed nothing but the short stretch of pavement between the two of them.

____

“… _Yes_ ,” Revan began slowly, but confidently as the lightning faded from their relaxing fist. “Just as intended. I _do_ like to be full of surprises, you know. Since it’s clear you’ve been paying attention _this_ far, how early _am_ I, exactly?”

____

Several troopers were at least a little bit suspicious at the ploy, but one in the back cleared his throat awkwardly before answering, “five standard hours.”

____

“ _And_ ,” Revan threatened slowly, eyeing the bravely attention-seeking trooper with expectance.

____

“…thirteen minutes, forty… _one_ seconds, Lord Inquisitor.”

____

Revan was silent for another intimidating moment. “I _like_ you, what’s your name, soldier?”

____

“Uh… TK-265.”

____

“I’ll be sure to commend you for your compliance, TK-265. _Now_ …” Revan turned their attention back toward the groveling lead trooper. “… _What_ to do with you?”

____

“I _swear_ it won’t happen again.”

____

“It better not,” Revan prodded lightly. “I believe in your intentions, but I’d like to know one last thing… could you tell me what your mistake was?”

____

“My… mistake?” The trooper looked up hesitantly.

____

Revan almost sighed. “Yes. Tell me _what_ won’t happen again. In explicit detail.”

____

“I… well, I…”

____

In a movement that was almost a blur, Revan slashed their lightsaber diagonally across the trooper’s upper body, a section with more of one shoulder than the other tumbling to the ground. The other troopers all flinched and a few leapt a step backward, all while the downed Neimoidian looked on with continued bewilderment. Just as quickly, Revan became civil once more, calmly addressing the now-leaderless squad.

____

“Does anyone _else_ know what your commander did wrong?”

____

Their fear had now reached a level oddly like known resignation to inevitable death. Revan could be seen grinning ear to ear.

____

If she was honest with herself, Mission kind of was too.

____

“…It was a trick question, I just wanted to see what he’d come up with,” Revan admitted, casually kicking the leader’s smoking, still-upright torso over onto the street. “So uncreative.”

____

“Er, if I may…” TK-265 began again, and _damn_ if he was probably far more stupid than brave at this point. “Weren’t there supposed to be two of you?”

____

Revan perked up, smirking as if immensely pleased. “Why yes, there were. Unfortunately, my companion was overcome with an incurable case of…”

____

They leaned conspiratorially toward the closest members of the squad, hand folded over their mouth as they whispered one, chillingly emphasized word.

____

“… _weakness_.”

____

The troopers froze, shivered, and gasped all at once.

____

“So, where were we?” Revan pushed on, standing in mock-confusion for a moment before turning about to finally face the cowering, now-horrified Neimoidian. “Ah, the interrogation, yes. Tell me, is there any chance you _actually_ have anything useful to tell me about the Jedi?”

____

“N-no!” the man pleaded, holding his hands in front of his face for a futile defense. “I don’t know _anything_ about Jedi! I’ve never seen one before in my life!”

____

“…I believe you,” Revan said flatly, before reaching out a hand, lifting the man several meters in the air in a choking grasp, and tossing him uninterestedly aside to crash through several weak metal partitions in an alley-like opening of the building wall.

____

Revan followed the former interrogation subject with a slow, intimidating walk toward the alley, their disappearance into the darkness accompanied by an eerie red glow, the sounds of several saber-slashes through metal, then the fainter white glow characteristic of Revan’s Force healing.

____

“ _Take the parts back to the ship_ ,” Revan’s voice whispered quickly over Mission’s comm. “ _Get our exit ready before those real Inquisitors show up, I’ll distract this lot until then_.”

____

When Revan emerged from the alley, they did so with a bright smile, and an over-the-top, hands-behind-back pose directed toward the eleven remaining members of the stormtrooper patrol.

____

“Alright, troopers,” they began with bombastic enthusiasm and a heavily-gestured nod, “are you ready to go on a _Jedi_ hunt?”

____

“Well, that’s our assignment, so… yes.” One trooper explained in a tone so _bored_ it couldn’t have possibly contrasted with Revan’s more.

____

“Splendid!” Revan shouted as they turned on a heel, marching with purpose in the direction opposite the landing pads. They pumped their deactivated lightsaber hilt several times in the air like a torch as they yelled “Onward, to systematic cultural extermination!” and led the unsettled-but-agreeable trooper squad past the salvage yard and farther out along the main road.

____


	3. Delegation: a Novel Concept

Revan had played the part… _expectedly well_ , was all Mission had to say about it. The observant Twi’lek had already guessed this _Empire_ was, unsurprisingly, still a front for the Sith, and that these _Inquisitors_ were probably some kind of new elite Jedi hunters. _Revan_ , on the other hand, would be reasoning about sixty moves ahead of the game, and most likely had the organization figured out well enough that running a con for a few hours wouldn’t be difficult at all.

Still, it was a worry, as it always was. Mission couldn’t completely hide her unease as she walked back through the city with Zaalbar by her side, weaving through reforming crowds to find a quick, yet subtle path back to the landing pads.

“Just the two of you?” Ibri asked with subdued curiosity, possibly already guessing Revan’s current absence meant he’d be getting a few more payments out of the party.

“Yeah, we’ll be back pretty soon though,” Mission somewhat disinterestedly confirmed, taking her seat as quickly as possible. Zaalbar securely belted the cargo into the empty right seat and took the middle spot next to Mission.

Ibri took the ferry up, and the ride was quiet, even the impressive view lacking its charm with the specter of the rising Imperial complex dominating the suspended skyline. Soon, but never soon enough, they were back on the docking platforms of the trading post, exchanging credits with one oddly grim-faced Rodian.

“…Your friend in trouble?”

It was a question, but also not, Ibri’s words accented with less of the upbeat buzz than usual and catching Mission by surprise as she turned to leave.

“…Huh?” Mission acknowledged more confusedly than skeptically as she turned back around.

“Not Ibri’s business, of course,” the Rodian started up again with a slight recoil, but ultimately held his ground, “but bad news in the city is bad news for _all_ the city.”

Mission eyed him strangely, and now even Zaalbar had turned around, curious. Ibri seemed hesitant for another moment, but let out a quick breath and met the Twi’lek’s eyes.

“Ibri heard you ask why build shops up here.”

With that, Ibri turned, and walked _very slowly_ down to the end of the central pier, steps that took more than two full seconds each finally placing the strange Rodian at the edge overlooking the city below. He didn’t gesture, but the way he glanced back over his shoulder seemed instruction enough to follow.

Zaalbar left the shielding near the boarding crossway, following close behind Mission as the two of them wordlessly carried out a reasonably sped-up variation on Ibri’s stroll.

“You see that building down there?” Ibri indicated with a nod instead of pointing, the gesture clearly in reference to the tall, four-spired fortress at the center of the city. “That new, built after parts of the city blown up at the end of the war. Imperials use the cleared zone for their max-security prison, to hold only most dangerous inmates. Ibri see shuttles landing, sentients bound and with armed guard go in, only the guards come back out.”

“Why would they build a prison _here_ , though?” Mission asked. “Why not some other planet?”

Ibri turned to face toward the east, but the way his shoulders shifted seemed to direct the others in the opposite direction. Mission stealthily scanned the cliff’s edge to the left, and her gaze swept across the grasslands they’d navigated on the way to the trading post, past a stretch of forest that touched the rocky edge so surely several trees were rooted precariously along the near-vertical slope just below, and finally settled on a distant, promontory point that stuck out enough past the plateau’s gradual curve that several buildings could be seen reflecting in the sunlight.

Or, _one_ building, and another structure at the very end that was smaller, boxy like a half-built pyramid, and had two long, dark posts extending out of dedicated vertical slots along one side.

“Imperial outpost,” Ibri explained. “That turbolaser mount has a firing angle on both sets of cables holding up the city.”

“So, if something goes wrong at the prison…” Mission reasoned, trailing off when the settling thought left her nearly shivering.

“All Ibri saying, you better have a plan to get your friend out of there.”

“That’s what…” Mission found speaking difficult, even as the three retreated to the less-tense air between the grounded ferries. “That’s what we’re working on now. And uh… thanks.”

Ibri nodded, but once he stepped back into his waiting position in front of the ferry, he became still and impassive.

Zaalbar picked up the shielding, giving Mission a neck-rolling gesture with an almost inaudible warble. _Let’s go_.

“…Wait, uh, Ibri?”

Mission wasn’t exactly sure where she’d found the words, but she had the Rodian’s attention again, and in the moment, both of them seemed at least a little bit confused why they were still talking.

“Do you think… with your ferries…” Mission almost backed away with a shaking head, but pushed through. “If something like that… _did_ happen… you could, get people out, right? Obviously not, like, the whole _city_ , but…” She closed her eyes over the wince. “…someone. _Anyone_.”

Ibri _looked_ at Mission for a long, drawn-out moment. At first, he seemed almost shocked, but without the extremes of emotion, and then, as the eye contact held, he seemed tempted to recoil in something like fear, but managed to hold firm. Finally, there was something… _solemn_ , in the way the voids of his large, reflective dark eyes lost their focused intensity.

“Empire do these things eventually, whether you here or not,” Ibri finally spoke. “Empire take what it wants, burn what it doesn’t need, and kill with purpose only what it fears. Someday Empire come for Ibri too. Ibri take it as compliment.”

Mission solemnly nodded, a bleak smile of thanks breaking through her uneasy concern. “Well, the day’s still young, right? I better get going, but I’ll be back soon. The Empire won’t know what hit it!”

Ibri returned the nod as the Twi’lek turned to leave, but seemed curious and oddly attentive through the departure, like there was one last question he wanted to ask.

“…What’s your name?”

“It’s Mission,” Mission answered, glancing back with a smile as Zaalbar and herself began the hurried trek back to the _Ebon Hawk_.

The Rodian paused at that, then shrugged. “It all the same to Ibri.”

  


* * *

  


Every second that passed as Mission and Zaalbar ran through grassy fields, then deepening forest, was eating away at their roughly five-hour timeframe.

Luckily, the kinrath didn’t seem too willing to replenish themselves after the party’s initial pass with Revan in the lead. There were no more groups, only solitary wanderers picking at the remains of those dispatched earlier. With stealth on her side, Mission managed each encounter with three shots at most, striking with enough distance to make the kills at range and prevent Zaalbar from having to put down his carried supplies to join the fight.

Explaining their predicament to the crew was the tough part, though luckily they all knew Revan well enough that their de-facto leader’s antics in the field were met largely with sighs (or cheers) rather than disbelief.

“So I was thinking…” Mission began, taking out her datapad and pulling up the new data recently shared between the team. “We need _some_ way to take care of that turbolaser, and it didn’t look accessible along the cliff, but we _do_ have two leads on getting us through those other areas of the forest – the sensor data in the droid territory to the east, and ultimately the passage behind the hermit’s hut in the west. While Big Z and T3 get the ship up and running, and Juhani and I stealth in and get Revan out of there, the rest of you can split up and… I dunno, do as many errands as you have to so you can get what we need.”

“Query:” HK began with broadcast uncertainty, “Are you suggesting that we leave the ship in groups… that do _not_ include the master?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” Mission confirmed, “and… really, it’s kind of weird that we don’t do it more often, but my point is, we have _five hours_ to get everything done and get off this planet before the real Inquisitors get here.”

“On that subject, in fact…” Juhani cut in, apparently having been waiting a while for a chance to speak. “If these… _Inquisitors_ , are, as you suspect, trained hunters of the Jedi, I believe my presence in the city would only hinder your efforts. If they were to arrive before we have completed our work fully – and I have little faith we could rely on avoiding such misfortune – I would be sensed easily in the Force, and our attempt at extraction would be discovered.”

There was a sadness to her voice, and Mission winced at both that, and the idea she’d have to go after Revan on her own. Still, it wasn’t like she hadn’t done similar things before, right?

“So _I’ll_ go back down to the city,” Mission corrected semi-slowly. “And we’ll need T3 working with Zaalbar to speed things up, so that makes the four of you left to deal with the turret - two for the droids, and two for the hermit.”

“Pretty sure I know which direction _I’ll_ be headed,” Jolee grumbled, in what _would_ have been under his breath, if he didn’t clearly want everyone else to hear the quiet complaint. Mission wasn’t going to say anything, but technically he probably _was_ the most suited to deal with the mysterious forest squatter.

“Well then, I _definitely_ can’t miss _this_ ,” Canderous turned to the older Jedi, mirthful amusement beneath his words.

“Analysis: I am rather certain my _own_ assignment is fairly obvious as well,” HK provided, the undercurrent of distaste well-hidden. He didn’t exactly _like_ it when he was valued more for his translation and general communication abilities than his skill with a blaster, but as much as the thought of it set off alarm-bells in Mission’s head, HK was still probably their best chance of establishing trust with the other droids.

Juhani sighed, but also seemed, to an extent, quietly relieved, nodding once to HK to confirm their partnership. Mission knew she would have preferred Jolee over any of the others, but she’d probably be willing to bear the droid, if it meant not having to spend any length of time alone with Canderous.

Mission looked uneasily around the room, wavering over a confident smirk and faking the rest. “It’ll be easy, just wait. _No_ one’s gonna stop us!”

  


* * *

  


_Bah_ , tradition or not, Jolee just couldn’t understand how Canderous could stand to wear that whole suit of heavy Mandalorian armor _everywhere_ he went. It wasn’t even that the specific suit held some ancestral significance – he’d looted it off a corpse three years ago and worn it from then on, the same blue and white color scheme as the enemy bandits now constantly adorning one of their allies in every battle against them.

Canderous never seemed bothered either way, but for Jolee’s sake, the cool shade of the forest made the sight a bit less unsettling, as did the fact the former mercenary had thankfully left the helmet behind. For a task that was clearly defined as a _negotiation_ , it was still about fifty-fifty odds he’d bring it anyway, out of either concern or _hope_ that things would end in violence.

The trees were dense enough that the Force user and the Mandalorian would occasionally round one of the trunks on opposite sides, and visibility was down to at most, several meters ahead before there were enough staggered trees to hide anything further beyond. Weaving between the last of them, a large clearing came into view almost immediately, still cast in shade by the tendrils of forest intruding on the space and supporting canopy cover all the way into the center.

Immediately drawing the eye were the pristine white helmets set about the space, balanced on the ends of branches stuck vertically into the ground.

“Heads on pikes,” Canderous snarled immediately, readying his heavy repeater with a whirr of machinery. “Heads of _our_ enemies, but there’s a good chance we won’t be welcome here either.”

Jolee examined for another moment, then warded Canderous down with a wary palm. “No, look at the ground. See that disturbance in the soil?”

In the garden-like ring around the central structure, and where the lotus-like shape of the larger clearing bloomed out into two fields to the right and left and two more at angles that passed to either side of the passage of entry, the sticks and helmets were organized with long rectangles of loosened soil, some more freshly-dug than others.

“These are graves,” Jolee observed. “The dead buried with honor and respect, though with it being out _here_ and accomplished so crudely, I highly doubt any actual connection to the Empire.”

Canderous lowered his weapon – _slightly_ – as he further took in the scene for himself. “I’ll give you _this_ one, old man, but I’m not about to let my guard down just yet.”

“Who are _you_ calling—” Jolee huffed a sigh, shaking off his sudden narrow-eyed scowl and setting his gaze toward the center of the clearing, where sat a small wooden hut even more modest than his own on Kashyyyk. “Let’s just get on with it… and see if whoever’s living out here alone is in need of any _pots_ or _kettles_.”

  


* * *

  


Kinrath screeches and blaster fire filling the air, HK-47’s Baragwin heavy repeater cleared the path as they traveled deeper into the unexplored parts of the eastern forest. If nothing else, Juhani couldn’t deny the droid’s usefulness when faced with such opposition.

If his personality, chiefly built around an exuberant disposition toward violence, ever truly grated her, she could remind herself the assassin droid was fiercely loyal to Revan, and by extension, at least _acceptably_ loyal the rest of the crew, herself included.

He was a _guardian_ , of sorts, and over the years, there had even been times when he’d verged on acknowledging himself in that capacity. With her own well-noted aversion to the dark, Juhani couldn’t believe she would’ve been HK’s first, second, or _any_ conceivable number’s choice for Revan, but if the droid truly held any disapproval, he’d never voiced it.

They rounded the next barrier of densely-packed tree trunks, finding another group of three kinrath visible in the shadowed clearing beyond, and HK stopped.

Neither of them had yet been noticed by the creatures, but the droid’s weapon wasn’t firing. Instead, HK turned in place to cast a questioning gaze over Juhani.

“Query:” he began, his mechanical voice tinged with notes of boiling-over excitement. “Would it trouble you much, to demonstrate the Force whirlwind ability against the hostiles in our next engagement? Oh, I _so_ did love it whenever Master used it against the wraids on Tatooine.”

Juhani looked at him oddly, but supposed it wasn’t in any way an improper request. The ability was in her purview, and as much as she’d left the majority of the prior combat to HK on the grounds of that being the droid’s usual preference, Juhani still wished to provide whatever assistance was asked of her, as she would for any matter involving the crew’s activities.

Calling on the Force, the Jedi directed the attack at each kinrath in turn, lifting them over a meter into the air and spinning them quickly into states of flailing disorientation.

HK fired gleefully into the fray, shooting off the first insect-like creature’s five limbs one at a time before dealing a final killing blow to the main body and moving on to the next. Juhani sighed, a palm to her forehead at the madness she’d just enabled.

There were definitely some qualities of HK-47 she would _never_ get used to.

  


* * *

  


“TK-545! get me another one of these…” Revan eyed the blue-colored tropical drink they were currently sipping through a fancy, golden curly straw. “…whatever it’s called. And see if you can get me one of those little plastoid dewbacks they put around the rim.”

The stormtrooper complied with a confused, but enthusiastic salute, standing with rigid posture for another short moment before quickly departing the side of Revan’s low, reclining pool chair.

They’d led the squad on a wild gizka chase that had wound uselessly through the city and, ultimately, brought them to an upper-class Neimoidian resort nested among the higher towers. The main patio was wide and circular, with rings of gold and silver deck space surrounding the round, crystal-blue swimming pool at the very center. There were several concession stands arranged in curves along either side – the staffers currently cowering in fear of the Imperial presence – while the back wall provided the entryway back into the tall, gold-plated tower it was attached to.

At the furthest edge of the circle – where Revan now rested with their pool chair turned to face outward – a several-meter-wide path extended out over the city below and connected to a smaller, currently-empty circular landing pad.

“TK-265,” Revan addressed calmly, and somewhat darkly, as the trooper approached from their left. “Did any of the other guests have the information we’re looking for?”

“I’m afraid not, commander,” the trooper replied. “What do you want me to do with them?”

“Interrogation stops being effective when people start thinking they’re going to die no matter _what_ they say,” Revan explained. “Leave them be, and if we eventually find someone who _does_ know something, I suspect they may be more forthcoming.”

The trooper moved to leave, but paused, turning briefly back toward Revan as another group approached from the right.

“If I may say so, commander… you bring credit to the Inquisitors more than any I’ve served with.”

Loudly and intently slurping at the mixture of liquid and air bubbles at the bottom of their drink, Revan gave the departing trooper a slow thumbs-up before rolling over in their chair to address the new arrivals.

“TK-M47!” Revan commanded toward the other group, to be met only by silence. “TK-M47?”

“Uhh…” one of the troopers began nervously, “…that isn’t a real designation.”

Revan gave the soldier a side-eye that made him flinch. “Well, congratulations it’s _yours_ now. So go… open that secure door, and then casually threaten everyone behind it.”

 _“Revan, are you there?”_ Mission’s panicked voice called suddenly over the team comm line. _“There’s a shuttle headed right for you! Never seen the type before but I’m guessing it’s Imperial! I think those real Inquisitors got here early too!”_

The ship came into view just as it passed through the highest spires, rounding a curve on approach to the landing pad. It was vaguely a white box, with a narrow, flattish cockpit section in front and three large, triangular fins, one arranged dorsally and the two at the sides falling moderately below the horizontal, not entirely unlike the limbs of a firaxan shark. As it lowered itself to the pad, those side fins hinged upward, joining the third in a vertical arrangement that ultimately closed just slightly past parallel, bringing the points closer together without actually joining to a single peak.

A single ramp lowered from below the cockpit, and two figures stepped out onto the landing pad.

“Impostor!” the figure on the right – Revan’s left – shouted almost immediately, her more slender profile drawn rigidly to a commanding strut as the two black-and-grey-clad Imperials continued their slow, intimidating walk across the raised bridge. “Rise, and meet your fate!”

With an emphatic sigh, as several of the nearest stormtroopers expressed a sudden bout of meandering indecision, Revan stood up from the pool chair, staring back across the distance with an ambiguous frown. “There must be some mistake. _I_ am an _Imperial Inquisitor_ , in command of this operation. The two of _you_ should be the ones explaining yourselves.”

“I don’t recognize you,” the same Inquisitor continued with spiteful certainty, and only a small allowance of doubt – _So they all seemingly know one another, how interesting_ – “I am Nineteenth Sister, and this is Twenty-Seventh Brother. Who are _you_ supposed to be?”

“ _I_ , of course…” Inactive saber hilts in hand, Revan took a dramatic bow, right arm extended in the air and left arm crossing their lowered forehead. “…am Sixty-Ninth Sibling. How may I be of further service to the esteemed Empire?”

“…If you’re a spy, you’re also an _idiot_ ,” Nineteenth Sister scolded, shaking her helmeted head. “There aren’t _that_ many of us.”

“So, the Sith broke your will _and_ your sense of humor,” Revan challenged with an arched brow behind their visor. “And am _I_ the idiot or was that classified information you just gave me?”

At that, the arrivals stopped in their tracks, tension solidifying fully to a standoff. From halfway across the bridge, the Inquisitors sized Revan up, and Revan did the same.

Nineteenth Sister was dressed in almost all black, with smaller portions of a light grey undersuit showing through at her waist, the neckline of her torso armor, and the portions of her upper arms between her rounded shoulder pauldrons and her elbow-length gloves. She wore a helmet shaped a bit like the officer’s in the forest, with the same flaring brim in the back, but the face was completely closed, eyes covered by a thin, red visor line and the lower part consisting of a blocky filtration unit that nearly resembled a snout. She had her left hand on her hip, but it was by no means a casual gesture, her loose-hanging right arm positioned only inches away from a lightsaber type Revan couldn’t entirely place from the sight angle.

Twenty-Seventh Brother wore more exposed grey, with his upper torso bereft of plating and padded instead with more flexible fiber armor. His arms were cast entirely in reflective black, largely because both of them were prosthetics at least up to the shoulder, the limbs built on narrower-than-life underframes and paneled to size with angular armor plates. His exposed, helmetless face seemed confined to a constant show of rage and impatience. The one memorable feature was that he had seemingly lost his right eye to some sort of horizontal swiping cut – one that had continued along the side of his head to claim the top of his right ear and leave a deep gash in his skull. Curiously, it was too rough of a cut to have been dealt by a lightsaber or even a reasonably-honed metal blade. A sphere-shaped tactical lens had been set into the groove, moving in time with his organic eye as he examined Revan in turn.

Revan slowly took a combat stance, activating their red saber first and the purple a moment later.

Using the force, Nineteeth Sister pulled her own weapon from her hip, and Twenty-Seventh Brother pulled an identical weapon to his right, mechanical palm. In unison, they held the sabers hilts forward and horizontal, blunt half-circle guards on each giving the appearance of a brass-knuckle-type design. The next moment, however, the guards split vertically, forming two thinner curves than ran above and below the clasping fist to form a continuous circle structure with the hilt itself acting as a diameter-spanning grip.

Then, red blades activated from emitters at both ends of each hilt.

Then, an outer ring of the circle started mechanically _spinning_ around an inner ring, hilts remaining in place while the blades disappeared into whirring, motor-powered discs of red plasma.

_Seriously?_

Revan slackened their readied stance, wrists loosening and blades hanging lazily as they stared blankly with a sigh. “Nevermind, I actually _don’t_ want to be an Inquisitor.”

Their two opponents took the opportunity to begin forwards again, in a still-slow walk that seemed to favor intimidation over action. Revan displayed obvious reluctance at resuming their preparation, shaking their head as they let the approach play out.

At the border between the bridge and the pool deck, the Inquisitors tripped the gas mine, a sickly green cloud of poison overtaking them both and fanning chaotically in the whirr of their sabers. Twenty-Seventh Brother – were these _really_ the names they were going with? – started choking immediately, gasping for breath as he fell to his knees.

Nineteenth Sister lunged forward, either because the filter on her helmet was doing its job or because she was just _that_ determined. The spin-saber was out swinging as Revan put up a guard, blocking each strike and adjusting for the changing pattern.

It was generally similar to fighting a double-bladed saber user, except the blades could move on another axis independent of the user’s wrist. Revan blocked once with both sabers vertical, then again with sabers horizontal, one above the other, as the line of the attacking weapon changed almost instantaneously between strikes.

The moment the woman actually started incorporating the continuous spinning into her maneuvers, Revan reached behind them with the force, and swung the mass of the pool chair between the two of them. Nineteenth Sister was caught in a stunning, blinding shower of splintered wood and neon green textiles, taking a step back and allowing Revan a cleaving strike that caught the saber between the blades and across the hilt-and-guard assembly. The saber was cut almost neatly in two along a diagonal, and Nineteenth Sister barely managed to pull her hand free as the interrupted weapon sparked and flew to pieces.

By then, Twenty-Seventh Brother had recovered, and he rushed in madly to take his companion’s place. Lunging bold steps forward, he swung his own double-blade right, then left, reversing the spin each time to dig molten grooves into the deck as he forced Revan into a steady backpedal. Finally, he stopped the spin and pushed the weapon forward, locking Revan into a wide block while his left prosthetic pulled another hilt from his opposite hip. The second weapon unfolded and activated to a full spin, and its wielder swung the saber overhead, spinning blade falling ahead of the static one and slicing through the air where Revan’s arms had been extended a fraction of a second earlier.

Revan had now leapt back to the edge of the pool itself, and Twenty-Seventh Brother rushed for a final charge, both dual, spinning sabers swinging around each other in a fighting style so chaotic it was a wonder he didn’t cut himself to pieces.

_Maybe that’s why his arms are prosthetics, now that I think about it…_

Revan backflipped out of a whirling, four-bladed hurricane, feet finding a shaky and somewhat disorienting balance across a rectangular reclining float in the middle of the pool. The thin barrier of neon-blue synthetic foam had begun to drift backward across the water’s surface at Revan’s landing, the distance between the combatants now further increasing, at a painfully slow speed, as Twenty-Seventh Brother looked on in a particularly judgmental disbelief.

The stormtroopers _still_ seemed to have no idea what to do, though that might have just been the standard instinct of underlings to stay out of things while the saber-wielders were having it out.

Nineteenth Sister caught up to her partner’s side, only for the two to split up again, rounding either side of the pool while Revan’s raft steadily approached the far end. Off to Revan’s right, Twenty-Seventh Brother used the Force to throw his now-deactivated right-hand saber across the water, but Nineteenth Sister pointedly deflected the offering with a telekinetic swipe of her own. Instead, she pulled a different-looking hilt from a mounting point across her lower back, a weapon toward which Twenty-Seventh Brother expressed an interesting sneer of disapproval.

Revan timed their reaching step to the light bump of the foam raft against the back pool edge, continuing fluidly into a backwards walk along the deck as the Inquisitors converged again in their wake. Twenty-Seventh Brother drew a third saber hilt to replace the rejected offering, reestablishing his dual-wield.

And he was the first to take the bait, rushing headlong into Revan’s powerful Force wave.

While Twenty-Seventh Brother soared into a backward tumble, Nineteenth Sister gathered herself low, avoiding the uncontrolled, whirling blades passing overhead and propelling herself into an expert lunge that managed to catch even Revan by surprise in the midst of the immense splash of steam-filled water that erupted onto the pool deck.

Her new saber was lengthy like a double blade, but she’d only activated a single beam of red plasma. She matched Revan’s dual sabers with skill and speed, fighting with rageless ferocity and unclouded purpose. It was difficult to even _see_ her weapon in the flurry of combat, but by the third blade-lock Revan had determined it to nearly resemble an incomplete version of the spin-saber. There were no connecting curves, but there _was_ a crossing guard at both ends, like a small, perpendicularly aligned cylinder mounted around each emitter.

Something else was _off_ about it, though, and it took until Revan’s final, defensive left-handed swing to see it – the activated blade was offset from the line of the hilt.

In the midst of the blade-lock, and before Revan could round their right-hand saber for another swing, Nineteenth Sister did three things. First, she twisted her hilt in her hand so the misaligned blade was outward and the empty side of the emitter was inward. Second, she pressed another button on her saber, activating a parallel beam of red plasma that extended in close contact with the _other_ side of Revan’s violet one. Third, she twisted both the hilt and her wrist, locking Revan’s blade between her own saber’s pair and physically moving the blade-lock until Revan’s own wrist was oriented in such a way as to make freeing or further utilizing the saber a momentary impossibility.

 _Now_ that _is actually sort of clever_ , was the final thought that ran through Revan’s mind before something blunt, damp, and metallic clocked them hard enough across the forehead to send them immediately into unconsciousness.

  


* * *

  


Mission watched with a wince as a soaked-through and visibly enraged Twenty-Seventh Brother swung the rounded guard of their saber hard enough into Revan’s face to crack their visor and send them collapsing to the deck.

“It seems like we’ve got ourselves a _live one_ ,” the Inquisitor declared with a spoiled, but quickly improving mood as his face twisted a sadistic, pleased smile. “Looks like we’ll get to make that detour after all. I’ve been _looking forward_ to another round.”

As he slammed one fisted mechanical hand into the other, Nineteenth Sister shook her head with what might have been an eye-roll beneath her helmet, but made no comment.

From across the gap between the two buildings, even the tystel probably wouldn’t do much good, not that there was any universe where Mission could hold her own against two Sith who’d managed to take down _Revan_. Uneasily, she watched the two Inquisitors load their unconscious captive into the shuttle, and set quickly to work tracking the ship’s path through the air.

It wasn’t hard to guess it would end up a few buildings away, on the landing pad of the Empire’s infamous maximum-security prison.

Getting Revan out of here was about to be just a _little bit_ more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spinny lightsabers are out, tuning fork lightsabers are in.


	4. It's Almost Like We've Stumbled into Some Kind of Adventure

“ _No one’s_ gonna see _this_ Mission,” the Twi’lek whispered to herself with a smirk as she dropped out of the ceiling panel and into the prison corridor. The Baragwin stealth field generator’s cloaking field kept her hidden from sight, but… at some point, she would really have to learn to stop talking to herself every time she used it.

Luckily the corridor was empty, and so Mission made her way steadily forward, counting off the numbers marked on the doorways to her left.

Breaking in had been slightly more challenging than usual. Security was notably more advanced than in other parts of the galaxy, but it only took a little tinkering with her spikes to get them to work with the new system. There were differences in the computer network, but fundamentally they all operated on the same principles she was already used to. It hadn’t been long at all before she’d intercepted a surprisingly professional memo revealing that ‘Sixty-Ninth Sibling’ had been moved to interrogation.

Now, if she could just figure out where interrogation _was_.

Eventually, she wandered into an area with three security doors along the right-side wall, with the rest of the room forming a square walking path around an island of desk stations and important-looking control monitors. There was another closed, but far less reinforced door at the back-right of the room, in a straight-line procession from the entrance and past the three along the wall, and another at about the center of the wall on the left, on the other side of the monitors.

Approaching the first of the security doors, Mission stood on her tiptoes to look through the tiny, rectangular window at the top. The room beyond was empty, but by its size, bare-metal construction, and meager furnishings it was clearly a holding cell. _That_ at least told her she was getting close to the right place.

The second cell was occupied, but the Neimoidian man in an orange-and-grey prison jumpsuit was pressed tightly into the back-right corner, huddled with wide, bronze eyes and whispering something lengthy and repeated under his breath. Mission winced, having seen something similar with the Rodians on the Leviathan after they’d been subjected to extended torture. _This_ guy wasn’t going to be any help at all.

The third cell wasn’t much better, as all Mission could see was another jumpsuited figure laid out on the floor near the left side of the room – even though it was only a small ledge-up to the bed space set into the wall. Whoever they were, their head was hidden in the mess of baggy jumpsuit sleeves around their shielding arms, and it was only by the faint rise and fall of their torso that Mission determined the person was actually still alive.

So, _no_ convenient captured spacer with an advanced computer-cracking tool shoved up… okay, _maybe_ Mission would honestly rather do without that this time. It was just more security to sort through, how hard could it be?

  


* * *

  


Distantly, the air held the sustained, low sound of buzzing energy, and Jolee took a few curious steps to the right, the sound becoming that much louder as the obscuring structure was cast aside to reveal the pale, blue-lavender force field stretching across a gap in the rocks behind it. It didn’t seem to be exactly the same technology as Czerka employed on Kashyyyk, but Jolee still found himself reveling in the relief that it was _someone else_ ’s responsibility to take care of passage through this one.

Now, to get that _someone else_ to cooperate.

Jolee cautiously, but not overtly so, approached the front door, walking between two small sets of helmet-markers while Canderous stood watch several meters behind. Raising a hand to knock, Jolee thought better of it, and instead of closing the final distance to the door, spent a moment composing his thoughts and clearing his throat.

“…Hello? Anyone home? We were just passing through, on the way to some business on the other side of that force field you seem to have there…”

“Because _that’s_ gonna put someone standing guard in a talking mood,” Canderous broke in, with that sort of condescending anticipation that meant he was not only being judgmental, but part of him probably wouldn’t mind at all if Jolee failed.

“Look, I’ve been down this road before, driving the _other way_ ,” Jolee continued in a much less pleasant, more cutting tone. “So go ahead, give us whatever task you need done to prove we’re worthy to continue, and we’ll be on our way. You can even hitch a ride on our ship, if you like, but we already have _two_ cranky old-timers who keep to themselves so you’re going to have to bring something _new_ to the table.”

Silence stretched for what felt like almost a minute.

“Well, _now_ you’ve done it,” Canderous chimed in again. “Assuming anyone’s even home.”

Jolee considered that, but… he knew very well there _was_ someone on the other side of that door. He’d known it before it had been a conscious thought, but yes… _there_ was that pull. A strong presence, but one quieted with patience and calm. One lost in so many things, but also in a slow, careful contemplation.

“Are you a Jedi?” a deep, ominous, clearly disguised voice spoke from across the barrier. “I do not know you.”

“No, I’m not a Jedi, but it’s an easy mistake to make,” Jolee replied with both annoyance and a satisfied grin. “Let’s just say the Order didn’t quite judge me to my liking, and leave it at that.”

There was quiet for another moment.

“What is your purpose here?” the voice continued. “Why have you sought passage? The forest bears little of interest beyond the force field.”

“Then that should narrow it down for you,” Jolee joked, but continued. “We have about four hours and counting to destroy that Imperial turbolaser if we want to get our friends out of the city without having the whole thing shot down from under their feet. That meet your standards?”

“You are doing little, to provide evidence of proper caution. This is a circumstance of your own making, I suspect?”

Jolee sighed. “I suppose that’s true. Now that we’re involved, the Empire’s wrath will fall somehow, some way… you could say the only _safe_ option is to give them what they want, and I know _all about_ actions having consequences, but… how can I _prove_ to you it’s a risk we need to take?”

“It is not a risk. As you know, it is a certainty.”

The next sigh was more of a hiss. “I _know_ that, dammit! But the people we have down there… I _won’t_ leave them to the Empire. Maybe these days it’s that, more than anything, that makes me _not_ a Jedi, but I won’t give up on those I care about any more than I’m going to take responsibility for however some last tatters of the Sith want to throw a tantrum.”

The finality let the moment settle, and eventually, the voice returned.

“Two tasks, I will have you perform. If you meet my approval, I will grant you passage.”

“Two?” Jolee questioned with a scowl. “ _I_ only needed _one_.”

“There are many bodies of Imperial troopers throughout these woods,” the stranger continued, “as I am sure you have seen in your travels, if not left a number of them there yourselves. There may be consequences, if they are discovered. Bring them all to me, and we will speak further.”

“That’s it?” Canderous said with moderate surprise. “Go on a scavenger hunt and carry around a bunch of bodies like pack eopies?”

“That is, indeed, the first task I would have you perform,” the voice reiterated. “You may take it, or you may not.”

After that, there was only silence.

“…Might as well get on with it,” Jolee decided with a sigh, turning around to leave the clearing while still trying to make heads or tails of the mysterious voice.

The intonation was dark and deep, clearly being filtered, but it didn’t seem _intended_ for intimidation, nor did the speaker’s overall presence seem particularly malicious. It lacked the smoothness of the Sith’s typical dramatics, instead carrying an audible reverberation that wasn’t fine-tuned enough to stop the slight stuttering around f’s and s’s and other tricky letters.

Ah, well. A mystery to ponder after his current task of helping Canderous gather a bunch of armor-clad corpses that were probably starting to smell, and dropping them all off on the doorstep of one annoyingly familiar memory come back to bite him.

And by ‘helping,’ he of course meant ‘standing out of the way and letting the cybernetically-augmented Mandalorian super-soldier do all the heavy lifting.

  


* * *

  


Eventually, the maze of narrow pathways in the trees widened out to a vaguely circular clearing farther to the east, the centerpiece being a large, heavy durasteel bunker in the shape of a truncated pyramid. The space was shaded by a broad, many-limbed tree growing from a mound of dirt atop the bunker, occasional knots of roots trailing down the slanted, trapezoidal walls. By the observable pattern of disturbance, it appeared the bunker was the newer presence of the two, and the immense tree itself had been moved to act as concealment.

The moment Juhani and HK-47 crossed into the clearing’s outer perimeter, four sets of feet hit the dirt behind them, the sound of dry, crunching leaves almost obscuring the faint, ratcheted whine of mechanical shock-absorbers.

Juhani rounded, her saber hilt held securely in her fist, while HK attempted to swing his repeater into position. They were both far too slow to fully ready their weapons, already lined up in the sights of four identical blaster rifles wielded by four identical droids.

In reference to Mission’s account of the machines that inhabited the forest, these four that had dropped from the branches above were cast in a darker, burnt orange color – somewhat similar to HK-47’s own coloration, in fact – with most of their bodies overlaid by dark, durasteel-grey armor plating – plating which acted as little hindrance to their lithe and maneuverable body structure. Juhani would also have guessed their heads had a less-dramatically-extended faceplate, as well as the distinction of white, glowing, circular optics to backlight the described expression-forming slants. They each held their two-handed blasters in one hand each, taking on a slightly hunched posture that, combined with their coloration, made them disturbingly easy to lose track of in the browns and greys of the surrounding forest floor.

“Freeze. Drop your weapons,” one of the droids – it was difficult to tell which one – spoke in a deeper electronic voice than Mission had described.

“Statement: That would be rather inefficient,” HK argued, with a troubling smirk in his words.

“We mean you NO harm!” Juhani stressed with an annoyed grimace, all while several more sounds from the directions now out of sight indicated a now-larger response to the intruders’ presence.

“Qualification: Unless, of course, you mean _us_ harm, in which case, we mean you _disproportionally greater_ harm.”

Taking the chance of a wider, semi-defensive look about, as HK did the same, Juhani observed that the pair were now surrounded not only by the four orange-grey droids, but a pair of bronze-and-grey-plated, three-legged, insectoid droids that had flanked in quickly from either side, as well as another platoon of the more-expected tan droids marching up a shallow slope from a pair of opened blast doors in the nearer side of the bunker. The tan droids were also flanked by two larger, reflective cobalt droids on either side of the formation, these ones bearing much bulkier armor that was so fully encompassing of their wide upper bodies that it buried their heads almost entirely and gave them a headless, dome-topped silhouette.

Upon slowing to a halt in near proximity to the intruders, the platoon of tan droids parted into two parallel rows, the cobalt droids also sidestepping to accommodate the shift. Walking more slowly up the path through the center was another trio of the tan droids, the two on either side bearing the dark red markings Mission had described on the lone functioning machine she, Revan, and Zaalbar had previously encountered. If they were lucky, perhaps that individual was one of the pair.

It was the central droid that seemed more ready to engage, however. This one featured different markings in yellow, including a small circle at the center of its chest, a rounded patch cresting the top of its head, and thin stripes running down its upper arms.

“State your business here,” the yellow-marked droid spoke in the sharper version of the droning voice. “You don’t look like you’re with the Empire, so why are you looking for us?”

Caught in the collective sights of the identical rifles held by all the tan and orange-grey droids, the dual blaster cannons embedded in the forward-held right forearms of the cobalt droids, and the larger, limb-replacing dual blasters slung out to either side of the insectoid tripods, Juhani exhibited extreme caution as she spoke.

And hoped HK wouldn’t do anything rash to get the both of them killed.

“We seek only the sensor data pertaining to an Imperial facility on this plateau. Several friends of ours encountered one of you, of the kind possessing red markings.” The Cathar used her neck to gesture at the pair of the described droids flanking the speaker.

“Amendment:” HK started to talk, prompting Juhani to start holding her breath. “If there is any manner in which we could _negotiate_ for this data, possibly involving mundane tasks to perform or lost objects to retrieve, I assure you we would be most willing to comply.”

“Wait a minute…” the red-marked droid to the right of the apparent leader pondered a thought with a hand to its extended chin. “You’re with that Jedi from the forest earlier, aren’t you?”

Juhani was either as lucky as she’d hoped, or this current group might possibly be near the entire extent of their number.

“She IS a jedi! Look!” the opposing red-marked droid shouted, a pointing arm suddenly extended in the direction of the saber hilt still clutched in Juhani’s hand.

All at once, the standard droids stiffened with something like _fear_ , the cobalt heavies shifted so both cannon-bearing arms were extended forward, the insectoid mobile turrets took several steps backward and activated blue, spherical energy barriers around themselves, and the orange-grey special ops adjusted lightning-fast into a weapon-ready posture that was somehow even more intense than the last.

…Perhaps ‘lucky’ wasn’t the right word.

“No! No!” The first red-marked droid screamed with arms waving in the air. “Not like _that!_ The Jedi who saved me from that patrol!”

“It is true, we are with the others this one encountered earlier!” Juhani hissed with another, more focused gesture, “but we are _not_ of the council! We _reject_ their ways.”

“Amendment: Reject them rather _vehemently_ , in fact,” HK contributed, words clearly tinged with an unshaken, vile smirk, “ _This one_ and my master could provide an effective _demonstration_ , if one was required.”

It was taking all of Juhani’s practiced calm and patience to not strike out against the one droid present who did _not_ have a weapon trained on her.

The yellow-marked droid seemed to visibly ponder the situation for several moments, the other droids holding their fire in deference to the action.

“Do either of you have enough repair skill to fix a damaged droid?”

“Answer: I am indeed very proficient in mechanical repair,” replied HK. “It is one of my most highly rated overall skills! _Tragically_ , I was not able to use that skill to repair my _own_ cognitive functions, and was forced to rely on the commendable, but ultimately inferior meatbag skills of my master. With regard to any third party, however, my capabilities should prove most adequate.”

“…Then we might actually be able to use your help,” the yellow-marked droid said, scratching its head and appearing hesitantly more agreeable.

The red-marked droid to its left turned briefly to its superior, not speaking but evidently engaged in some form of covert communication. The yellow-marked nodded along to the silent exchange, then turned back toward Juhani and HK.

“Yes, but _first_ …” the leader corrected with an outstretched hand, one of its two parallel digits extended upward in a halting gesture. “We need to know we can _trust_ you, so you’re gonna have to do something else for us.”

“We will take into consideration any proof of our honesty you require,” Juhani agreed, relaxing her readied stance and bowing her head respectfully to the droid commander.

“Yes, well…” the leader seemed at a momentary loss, until one of the orange-grey droids broke its guard stance to commune silently with the same red-marked guard, who then passed the information forward. “Oh! Yes, we’ll need you to acquire four complete, fully intact suits of stormtrooper armor, and bring them here.”

“Qualification: are you _certain_ the suits need be _entirely_ intact?” HK questioned. “That sounds like a rather inefficient use of my skills as a combat droid.”

“ _Not a scratch on ‘em_ , or they don’t count,” the droid leader insisted with welling skepticism.

“We will return when we have the armor,” Juhani announced with another bow, quickly moving to depart before HK could provoke the droids further.

  


* * *

  


So, Mission would admit that _these_ terminals were actually frustrating enough that she wasn’t getting anywhere. After several minutes of fruitless tinkering, she’d resorted to pulling apart the machines’ casings to try and manually override the locks the spikes couldn’t break through on their own. She’d _almost_ had the building schematic uploaded to her datapad several times, but every instance she’d managed to pry into had deleted itself automatically, and it had been _enough_ of a hassle having to recalibrate her alarm suppression firewall every time another intrusion warning tried to send itself through.

Sighing, she pulled her connection wires from the open monitor base, leaning back on her low kneel until she could rest her back against one of the intact panels. “Where the _kriff_ is interrogation?”

“Interrogation is in the southeast tower. The nearest elevator can be accessed from the door at the far side of this room, making a left and continuing for approximately thirty meters.”

Mission froze, eyes wide.

She hadn’t _meant_ to speak out loud, which was _one_ thing…

But also… that _definitely_ wasn't the kind of voice Mission would have expected to hear in a prison. Whoever had spoken was… _young_ , probably around her own age, with an accent pointing in the general direction of the core worlds. Her thoughts had first taken her to the idea of some artificial, verbal interface in the computers – the answer had certainly been _technical_ enough – but the voice had been too muffled, and clearly coming from the direction of the cells.

Finally, Mission found the courage to stand, reactivating her stealth field just in case. The first cell was still empty, the prisoner in the second hadn’t moved, and before she could check the third cell, she heard a quick rustling from within. Through the window, that one now _also_ appeared empty, but it occurred to Mission that through the small opening, she couldn’t see clearly down to the floor space just behind the door.

“…Who are you?” Mission finally, cautiously spoke.

“It doesn’t matter,” the voice answered – and were circumstances different, Mission probably would've spent a lot more time lingering on that accent – “But you shouldn’t waste any more time here. Another patrol will be arriving in a few minutes.”

Mission looked worriedly back to the absolute _mess_ she’d made of the room’s computers, but pressed on. “I can deal with it. I got _this_ far, didn’t I? I’ve fought through worse, and I’m getting my friend out of here, so _can_ you help me?”

“…Once you find the elevator, take it to floor thirty-two,” the mysterious voice instructed quickly, without question. “You’ll be in the south _west_ tower, and you’ll have to take the windowed overpass to get to the southeast. Alternatively, you can continue past my cell to the main hallway along the south face of the building, and make your way to the southeast elevator, but you’d encounter far more resistance in that direction, and more opportunities for detection.”

“Okay…” Mission took in, thoughts turning as she considered her new resource. “What about equipment storage?”

“Out the same door you’d take to get to the southwest elevator, but turn right instead of left. Fifteen meters down the hall, it’s the second room on the right.”

Mission did her best to quickly fix up the computers, then followed the instructions, turning right in the two-way corridor and locating the storage room. Opening the door was easy enough, and finding the right wall compartment was a bit of trial and error, but eventually Mission had her hands on two lightsabers, the Baragwin Shadow Armor, a pair of Eriadu strength amplifiers, a Mandalorian power shield, a Verpine cardio-regulator, two fragmentation grenades, three plasma grenades, two adhesive grenades, four concussion grenades, one Cryoban grenade, six thermal detonators, a weak fragmentation mine, two weak gas mines…

She shoved the rest of the explosives in the supply pack, took a moment to slip the main chest component of the Shadow Armor into place over her own fiber suit, and paused to consider the damaged interface visor now cradled in her hands.

_This helps with breaking into computers, right?_

Repair wasn’t her best skill, but after a few minutes, she had the device in working order – though the cracked main lens would still need to be replaced eventually. Mission checked the rest of the room and looted some spare credits, then turned to make her way back to the cells.

  


* * *

  


Five at a time was the most they could manage – two bodies slung over each of Canderous’s broad shoulders, and one reluctantly levitated with the Force, as if Jolee were some lowly traveling entertainer pulling especially macabre tricks for the benefit of younglings. It was like that time Revan had inexplicably hauled around those viper kinrath bodies for over an hour before coincidentally realizing they could actually use one of them to lure out the Terentatek in the Shadowlands.

Speaking of those buggers, it was Jolee’s duty to clear them off the path ahead, because no matter how physically _strong_ Canderous was, he simply didn’t have the shoulder space to balance his cargo while also lowering his arms to draw and fire his heavy repeater – they both knew because he’d _tried_ it. After that, Jolee was actually tempted to simply use the levitated trooper as a battering ram against the insects, but it turned out a subtle manipulation of the creatures’ minds was enough to ward them away without need for any more senseless violence.

Though they bore the marks of battle, most of the stormtroopers in the forest had been left in relatively good condition for transport. The same could _not_ be said for the Imperial officer, and it was unanimously decided he would be left where he was, not technically being included in the arrangement’s original wording. Only one of the troopers’ bodies presented a moderately strange case – _more_ strange because of how early on the path they’d found it, relative to when Mission had said the party had started encountering the stormtroopers alive, but _less_ strange the more Jolee thought about the presence he’d sensed on the other side of that cabin door.

That perfectly-burned hole through the heart was far too neat to be from a blaster shot.

With every return trip, the pile of armored corpses grew, sitting in the middle of the forest stranger’s soil-matted front lawn. At the task’s completion, the stack was nearly higher than the roof of the hut itself.

“Well, here they are,” Jolee announced, walking up to the stranger’s door. “What now?”

“Leave them,” the stranger contributed after a short moment. “I will bury them after you leave.”

“…And?” Jolee remarked. “If you’ll recall, we _are_ on a bit of a timetable.”

He then made a note to remember that reminding the stranger of the rush they were in only seemed to have the opposite effect, if the _even longer_ moment of quiet that passed without answer was anything to go by.

“For your second task,” the stranger began, with what could only be mocking slowness, “there is a rare blue lily that dwells near the cliff, prized for its pigment. You will find it growing low among the tall grass. Retrieve one, and bring it to me.”

“…So we’re _picking flowers_ now,” Canderous summarized with a slackening of his shoulders.

“Hush, you,” Jolee scolded offhand, “why don’t we take the _easy_ trial where we can get it? Your back would thank you, if it wasn’t pumped full of adrenaline!”

  


* * *

  


Juhani could have _sworn_ there were more stormtrooper corpses, fresh or otherwise, scattered around these woods only a short time ago, but now the space seemed entirely devoid of them. It was little direct loss, since most of their suits of armor had been damaged beyond the droids’ specifications, but it was still a rather strange observation.

Ultimately, the pair’s meandering took them back to an untraveled area in the eastern forest, northward of the droids’ bunker. Distant voices echoed through the trees ahead as Juhani and HK-47 navigated a delta-like maze of paths and interrupting trunks that sharply limited view distance.

Conveniently, there were four stoormtroopers just ahead, performing a sweep of that area of the forest. Inconveniently, they were armed, and unlikely to abandon their armor without a fight that might damage it.

“Extrapolation: If the master were here, the master would simply use the Force to _strangle_ them to death telekinetically, with no need to leave _any_ external damage.”

“That is not an ability I am trained in, or would even pursue,” Juhani countered with the flicker of a scowl, though her faint aggravation was directed more toward a sum of the droid’s past actions than the present matter alone.

Revan could master aspects of both the light and dark with little trouble, but even now, there were some abilities the Cathar left to her partner’s exploration alone, out of both lingering fears and personal distaste. Juhani’s own study of the force was specialized toward more advanced movement, protection, and stun abilities, just as Jolee’s included darker mind-affecting abilities that even Revan had little mastery of.

“Suggestion: Very well, if you could simply hold them in stasis for a few moments, I may be able to dispatch them in accordance with the agreed-upon terms. I highly doubt, however, that my methods would be to your liking.”

“We have little choice,” Juhani relented, readying the ability.

The troopers stilled in their movements, posture stiffening as they became frozen in place. Juhani held the four targets steady against their weak attempts at resistance, as HK slung his repeater across his back and emerged from cover.

Approaching the first of the frozen stormtroopers, HK reached out and gently removed the trooper’s helmet, then reared his shoulder for a blindingly-fast mechanical punch that sent the man’s head snapping fatally backward. Juhani winced at the sight, deeply unsettled, but allowed the plan to continue, as HK moved on to identically dispatch each trooper in turn.

When the last target had been dealt with, Juhani finally allowed the bodies to fall, approaching and mentally attempting to work out how they were going to either remove the bulky armor for transport or move the bodies themselves back to the droids’ bunker.

“Observation: How _curious_ ,” announced HK, as he knelt intently over the men he’d just killed. “Two of these meatbags possess the same exact facial structure and features. My knowledge of meatbag biology is limited, but I would certainly hypothesize this to be of an astronomically low probability.”

Juhani brushed past the droid’s concerns, quietly seething as she made for the trees beyond and thankfully discovered a pair of concealed swoop-bike-like vehicles the troopers had apparently been using to sweep the woods.

The speeders were long and narrow enough to navigate the forest, plated largely in camouflaging brown, and Juhani used the Force to move one of them out into the clearing to begin roughly draping the bodies overtop of it.

After re-helmeting the troopers to aid in transport, HK stood aside, evidently content simply to watch the Cathar work. “Advisement: I might recommend exercising more _caution_ with the deceased meatbags. There is no need to necessitate that we _repeat_ our endeavor, however much I, myself, might appreciate such an outcome.”

Juhani shot the droid a scowl, suppressing a hiss, then turned away to sigh in approaching shame. She could sense the anger building now, too, and shut her eyes tightly over it.

“Statement: The master has encountered more perilous situations before, and has always returned. It is impossible to destroy the master. It is therefore foolish to be concerned.”

Juhani looked back toward HK with a strangeness in her narrowed eyes, though the skeptical glare softened as the silence stretched on and the droid remained nearly motionless. She sighed, taking heavy, settling breaths in the soothing, quiet ambience of the forest.

“…Thank you,” Juhani spoke softly, then gave the droid an amused look, with an almost teasing glint in her eyes. “If that was some trace of sympathy I detected, after all.”

“Deception: Negative: I am broadly incapable of such sentiment.”

Juhani smiled, taking a gentler hold of the Force to bring the speeder hovering behind her as she began the slow march back through the trees.

“Comment: If you would, however, deem it necessary to engage in a highly dangerous and entirely unnecessary rescue mission, involving the mass slaughter of every Imperial on the entire bridge city, I would, of course, be the first to offer my eager assistance.”

  


* * *

  


“What?” The voice from the cell began in a startled, hushed whisper upon Mission’s reentry. “You _can’t_ be back here, the patrol hasn’t arrived yet, which means it’ll be here any minute!”

“How many?” Mission asked, drawing her tystel.

“…Just one guard, usually,” the voice answered. “Officer, recently demoted.”

“Which door?”

“To your left, my right. The accessway to the southeast corner of the facility.”

Mission turned to face the far door at the end of the row of cells, taking on a readied stance. With the help of the Shadow Armor, even more-so than usual her activating stealth field made Mission completely invisible to the unaided eye.

When the double-door slid open a long half-minute later, Mission’s targeting reticle was already overlaid right between the Imperial officer’s eyes. In the several seconds he had to consider the room, there wasn’t even the slightest show of suspicion on his grumbling face.

He went down in a single shot, and at the combat action Mission slowly uncloaked, from the barrel of her weapon all the way to her braced heels.

“He’s dead. How long do we have?”

There was a strangely silent pause. “Before anyone notices he’s not making his rounds? Perhaps twenty minutes at least, forty at most, but you’ll be out of here long before then. I’ve given you everything you need.”

Mission processed the response while she casually searched the downed officer’s body. He had the usual officer’s pistol, which she looted – might still get a chance to sell it to Ibri, if nothing else – and seventeen Imperial credits, which she pocketed. He was also carrying a curious datapad, which Mission checked for surveillance tech before taking as well. Out of curiosity, she skimmed over the contents, and like usual, there was only one text file on the whole damn thing.

  


* * *

  


_Current analysis of rebel movements has painted a troubling picture, as our enemies continue to employ the starships of various lesser species, and even several notable Alderaanian classes._

_This does not, however, point inevitably to a unified movement coordinated across the galaxy. If I may present an alternate hypothesis, it has recently been strongly suspected that the rebels have an established presence on Ord Mantell, a planet I need not remind you is home to continent-spanning scrapyards. Those scrapyards no doubt contain potentially repairable specimens of hundreds of varying ship classes._

_Do not be fooled, Imperials! There is no galactic rebellion. Only a local movement with the gall to convince us a coordinated threat exists where there is none. I have no doubt that, if our resources are properly committed, the truth will be discovered, and victory will be ours!_

_For my contribution, of course, perhaps a promotion may be in order? Surely my former title will be sufficient, but far-be-it from me to oppose, if yet a higher rank still should be taken under consideration._

  


* * *

  


Making another try at the terminals, this time slipping Revan’s visor over her eyes, she sliced back in for one final shot at remotely disabling the security. The access menu fought her attempts, but Mission managed to reroute her direction of access, targeting specific parts of the network according to their physical location on a schematic she was programming herself as she went along.

“How many meters from here to floor thirty-two, and how many across to interrogation?”

“Umm…” The voice pondered. “Fifty-six, then two-hundred-twenty-four.”

“ _Wow_ , you’re _good_ at this!” Mission said with a smile as she input the dimensions and located the interrogation cell door. One less layer of security for her to deal with when she got there. “Okay, where are the manual controls for the cells in this room?”

“…I don’t know,” the voice stated firmly, immediately losing any trace of the comradery the two had built up over the last few minutes.

“Seriously?” Mission scowled suspiciously at the cell door. “You’ve memorized this whole kriffing prison layout down to the _meter_ , and this is the _one thing_ you don’t know?”

“You don’t need it. Your friend is in _interrogation_ , remember?”

With lingering unease, and now in a semi-combative huff because of it, Mission turned back to the monitor. “Guess I’ll just find it myself, then.”

“You’re running out of time,” the voice nearly pleaded.

Mission was guessing at the coordinates based on her own position in the room, and her first attempt caused the overhead light to flicker off for a few seconds until she reversed the action. “Nope, that’s not it.”

“Those fluctuations could surge through the whole building! You’re only going to draw more attention to yourself.”

“Well I wouldn’t _have_ to, if you’d tell me what I need to know. And _yes_ , I _need_ to. I still don't know how everything works around here, but _my_ rules say, if someone in a prison helps me break out my friends, I break that person out too.” Mission’s next action in the system caused one of the other nearby monitors to overload in a burst of electricity, shocking Mission enough that she had to jam a medpac into her thigh to dull the pain. “Nope, not that one either.”

“Just _leave_.” The voice _was_ pleading now, with audible angry-tears.

The door leading back out to the hallway Mission had arrived through opened and closed several times. The Twi’lek used the visor to visually measure the distance from there to the third cell, looking for any obvious signs of maintenance access around the door frame, all while taking in the faint, tearful whisper from inside.

“You don’t have any idea who I am, or _what I’ve done_.”

“Okay, now I am _definitely_ getting you out of there.”

Mission keyed in the location, and fell into a sigh of relief when she heard the click of moving machinery and the hiss of hydraulic decompression. She pulled the visor from her face to wipe the sweat from her forehead, and leaned against the base of the terminal.

It was only as the single door actually started to pull upward, that Mission remembered that last she looked, she hadn’t been able to see anyone from outside.

Meaning the person inside was likely sitting with their back to the door, and clearly not expecting that door to open.

With all that information accounted for, Mission _still_ wasn’t sure what had possessed her to lunge forward into a full, panicked dive, knees sliding across the floor as intercepting arms surged forward with upturned palms.

Sure enough, the opening door left the cell’s occupant suddenly off-balance and falling backward.

The weight of shoulders dropping into her hands caused Mission to partially double over, but her strength pulled through, enough to prevent her charge’s head from hitting the floor.

Instead, the young, lithe, and very stunned prisoner was left staring upward, while an equally flustered Mission stared downward into deep blue eyes, olive skin, and the mesmerizing, freckle-like pattern of tiny diamonds tattooed across the Mirialan girl’s nose and cheeks.

“… _Hey_.”


	5. Sparks, Seeds, Embers, and Other Ostentatious Metaphors

After a long, dazed moment, Mission remembered the continuous passage of time, and maneuvered herself to help the other girl stand. That plan fell apart when the Mirialan stumbled on weakened legs that never seemed to find a stable purchase, so Mission quickly diverted to gently dragging her across the floor until they could both rest against the terminals. Mission was taking deep breaths, and so was the recently-liberated prisoner, the Twi-lek’s right arm resting across a set of intermittently-tensing shoulders and remaining unaddressed by either party.

Finally, Mission looked over to the other girl, and frowned. Who puts someone in a cell _and_ makes them keep wearing handcuffs? Before the Mirialan could object, Mission took hold of the girl’s bound wrists, working at the restraints for several seconds until the weird, blue-glowing indicators faded out and both cuffs clicked open. “There,” she announced with a warm smile the other girl still seemed too conflicted to return.

Now that Mission really _looked_ at her – in a more objectively observant sense – the girl’s inability to stand didn’t seem so out-of-place. Her skin had lost its brightness and was looking grey in places, what was visible of her body under the loose-fitting prison garb looked starved half to death, and even the recently-freed hands that hadn’t quite left the Twi’lek’s grip felt delicate enough they could snap. With a look of worry, Mission dug an advanced medpac out of her supplies and administered it quickly, wincing as the about-to-object Mirialan reacted to the prick of the needles.

Still, it was only a few long seconds before it was clear she was breathing easier.

“…That didn’t feel like bacta,” the Mirialan finally regained her voice, her face twisting up in a look of puzzled confusion.

“It’s kolto,” Mission explained, prompting a skeptical glance that seemed somewhat of an overreaction. She made a mental note to ask what ‘bacta’ was later, but it didn’t seem the most relevant question at the moment.

Finally, the Mirialan settled, looking away. “Guess the galaxy really _is_ stretched for resources,” she muttered sadly, before swallowing a nervous gulp and bracing to a renewed focus. “Just… _stop_. You don’t know what you’re doing, who you’re trying to help. I’ve done something horrible.”

“We’re in a maximum security prison, and I’m breaking you out of it,” Mission countered with an eye-roll and a cheerful smirk. “So yes, the possibility _had_ occurred to me.”

In truth, she’d gotten the sense the Empire was the kind of ‘authority’ that went around imprisoning people just because they felt like it, and not for any legitimate reason, but even if this girl _had_ done something to actually warrant her being here, Mission at least didn’t get the impression she was still in any way dangerous or untrustworthy, just that she was hating herself for it.

And _that_ about settled it, really.

“I am _not_ someone you should be acting this way toward,” the girl insisted with a scowl, and _oh_ , introducing this one to the crew as gonna be a good time and a half.

“Well, who are you then?” Mission challenged.

The girl froze up for just a moment, but it was more in preparation than shock. Her eyes shut tight over a grimace, an almost-hiss in the quiver of her lips as if she were about to speak the name of some vile, cursed and ancient entity of darkness eternal.

“I’m _Barriss Offee_.”

“…Cool, I’m Mission Vao,” Mission offered with an unmoving grin and an outstretched hand. “Now, do you think you can walk yet? Like you said, we probably shouldn’t still be here when the guards realize something’s up.”

  


* * *

  


Jolee spent a moment taking in the view from the cliffside, this being the first time either of them had ventured all the way to the forest’s edge. Even Canderous had managed to pause for several seconds without complaining about the need to hurry.

Wandering through the tall grass was a beetle-shaped harvester droid, of a size that might have been concerning if Jolee wasn’t already aware it was one of Revan’s resurrections. The sapphire-coated machine had left a maze of winding paths through one of the larger fields, and after a time, Jolee found himself traversing them, eyes scanning the shorter grass underfoot for any sign of blue.

“It’s a waste of parts, if you ask me,” Canderous muttered from a short distance behind.

“Pardon?” Jolee directed over his shoulder.

“I mean, it’s _one_ thing when we could use an ally in a fight,” the Mandalorian continued, complaint intoned with the slight shakiness of a respectful caution. “It’s a useful skill to have, to find an old piece of junk nobody was paying attention to, and make it work again to your advantage. But Revan does the same thing even when the fight’s _over_ , or the droid wouldn’t be of any use. I’m not sure I understand the motivation.”

“It’s simple, I would think,” Jolee explained with a shrug. “Perhaps there’s some deeper power complex involved, but ultimately, it’s a form of sentiment and compassion like any other. They may only be droids, but Revan still prefers to see them alive, rather than dead, like they would – _as a general rule_ , of course – for any kind of being, sentient or not. Usefulness has little to do with it.”

At that, Canderous fell silent with a sigh.

Rounding the next bend, Jolee paused in step, eyes blinking at the path ahead. With the taller ends of the grass cleared away, at least a half-dozen low-growing flowers had been revealed to the open air, petals blue as the waters of Manaan. Jolee knelt, and took one of the large lilies in both hands, pulling the entire plant free from the ground along with the ring of small, surrounding leaves and short root structure.

“And sometimes,” Jolee added with a teasing smile and an arched brow as he stood and turned around, “those small acts of compassion go back around again. How sure _are_ you, that Revan always _knew_ there would be a battle in the next room for the droids to fight in?”

As they began the walk back through the forest, Canderous pondered the question a moment, then smiled fiercely. “I think I understand now.”

“Well, it _took_ you long enough—”

“Clearly, it’s a tactical move. Revan is a brilliant strategist, who weighs the risks and takes precautions. No matter where, there’s always a chance of a surprise attack, and even if all opponents have been dealt with, it’s still possible there are more waiting nearby. Repair parts are cheap and easy to come by, and with Revan’s skill, they can make do with only a minimal amount. It’s a preparatory measure of little personal cost, and one that benefits the party greatly in the cases where it _does_ turn out to serve its purpose. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before!”

Jolee let out a deep sigh, but knowing full well it was a deflection, didn’t argue the point.

As they navigated the dense, western tree cover once more, on approach to the stranger’s cabin, Canderous stopped suddenly, catching Jolee’s wrist and nearly causing him to drop the lily.

“What…” Jolee began, but Canderous had a finger to his lips, waiting for the former Jedi to fall silent before gesturing ahead with his eyes.

Peering around one of the last trees prior to the clearing, Jolee took in the familiar sight of the cabin, but his scanning eyes caught movement farther off to the left, in one of the closer fields of graves.

Before a stretch of freshly-disturbed soil, knelt a figure clad in a long, brown, hooded cloak, looking down at a stormtrooper helmet set upon a stone slab. Beside the helmet was a small stone bowl, filled with a blue-tinted, but mostly grey substance that Jolee could guess had been mixed using the pigment from the flowers. The figure was facing away from the silent arrivals, his face hidden by both the hood and the angle, but a leathery-skinned, four-digited, orange hand could be seen reaching for the bowl, the longer claw on the middle of the outer fingers now coated in the paint as the figure applied the last touches to a series of blue-grey markings drawn on the helmet.

“ _Ni kar’tayl gai sa’ad_ ,” the same filtered voice chanted quietly.

It was all gibberish to Jolee, but Canderous’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.

The stranger stood, setting the completed helmet on the branch and bowing his head in respect, or possibly mourning. After several moments, he extended his left hand. Unexpectedly, the flower in Jolee’s hands lifted into the air, floating through the trees on an unseen wind drifting out into the clearing, where it landed perfectly between the claws of an upturned palm.

“You return,” said the stranger, the reverberation of his voice filter striking the air more clearly. Still not facing the others even as they stepped away from the trees, he took the lily in both clawed hands, and slowly pried away a single petal, allowing it to slip away from his thumb and forefingers’ pincer grasp and flutter to the ground.

Silence lingered for a time, and Canderous was clearly growing impatient – not that Jolee wasn’t suffering similarly behind his outward curiosity.

“Forgive me, if I’m not so _observant_ as you Force-sensitives,” the Mandalorian muttered aloud, seemingly more to Jolee than to the stranger, “but I’m still not seeing any deactivating energy shields.”

“That is because there is one final question, for which I must hear your answer.”

“And _then_ you’ll let us pass,” Jolee nodded along with resignation. “If you _like_ our answer, that is.” He shifted his mood and tone as pleasantly as he could, and breathed a sigh. “Very well, what’s the question?”

“Tell me, to the truth of your belief… does experience bring wisdom?”

“Does… experience, bring wisdom?” Jolee repeated aloud, still pondering the idea but already feeling the taste of a bitter laugh. “One of those aphorisms that always seem straightforward, isn’t it? But the _Jedi council_ were experienced alright, and where did _that_ get them?”

At the memories the question slowly brought forth, both from his own trials and from those of the ones he’d grown to know, Jolee seethed. Where he’d intended to react with grace, something about the stirring in the air around him, the weariness in his legs and back after a long day of walking, and the continued secrecy and condescension he’d faced at every turn urged him on, and he found it hard to _care_ whether it was the answer the stranger was looking for or not.

“ _Hell no_ , experience doesn’t bring wisdom! Take it from someone with more of the former than you can shake a stick at, learning is _continuous_ , not cumulative. Sure, I may have a few old stories and tired moral tales I fall back on to lend a knowledgeable hand or two, but there’s a _reason_ I prefer to keep my mouth shut about them until they’re dragged out of me! Everyone always gets to a certain age or rank and thinks they’re _wiser_ than anyone after them could possibly be, but for every new thing you learn, something else no longer applies! Perhaps experience and _adaptability_ could bring wisdom, but experience alone just brings the ignorance to think you’re wise; a head cluttered with old ideas and no way to know which ones need clearing out!”

The stranger remained still, and the whisper of wind through the trees was the only reply.

“…There, I’ve said my peace,” Jolee acknowledged after a heavy breath. “Let us through, or don’t let us through, we’ll find another way if we have to.”

Another long pause, and the air in the clearing was filled with the static of an electronic flickering.

“You may pass,” said the stranger, as both Jolee and Canderous turned to face the now-inactive shield frame, and the open passageway to the forest beyond.

“Well,” Canderous began with an audible grin, “looks like all your yelling and complaining finally found the ear of a kindred spirit. I knew there was a reason we kept you around.”

“Yes, very funny,” Jolee sighed, turning back to the stranger. “We’re just going to wait here a bit for our friends to catch up, and—”

But the stranger was gone, having left only a group of three freshly-filled graves memorialized by mounted stormtrooper helmets, each of them bearing new stripes and edge lining in a dull blue-grey and a forehead painted to bear the insignia of a wolf.

  


* * *

  


When Juhani and HK-47 returned to the bunker, the assembled droids had dispersed, with several of the standard models standing idle in a loose perimeter formation around the building. The tripods walked looping patrols around the clearing, while a lone red-marked droid waited at the entrance. Juhani levitated the speeder closer, bringing it to a halt just to the right of the path leading down into the structure.

“Good, you brought the armor!” the droid began, and though the standard model were all identical save for the markings, Juhani suspected this was the one to possess the most total experience with the _Ebon Hawk_ ’s crew thus far. “You’re clear to enter the base, go talk to the commander inside. Straight down the main hall and turn right at the end, you can’t miss him.”

HK at her side, Juhani proceeded down into the bunker, where a long main hallway did indeed stretch all the way to the other side, with multiple doors on either wall leading to the structure’s other rooms. These rooms were filled with items of extravagant wealth, mostly consisting of the sorts of gold and gemstone-decorated tableware and personal ornaments that were so often the spoils of war and conquest. Droids patrolled the area with seeming little regard for the artifacts themselves, all eyeing the two intruders with suspicion but otherwise going about their tasks.

The last door on the right led to a room that had either been cleared of its artifacts or had possessed none to begin with, consisting of only a small workbench, a larger table, and several wall-mounted terminals that appeared to function in the facility’s maintenance.

There _was_ a glint of gold from within the room, but it was from no object of wealth. Instead, it was the ornate, metallic plating of yet another droid, though dulled by the seeming scars of battle. The droid was inactive and laid out on the large table, humanoid like the others but damaged to the point it had been deprived of its legs entirely if it had once had any. Its lower arms were thicker but similarly skeletal, its torso bulkier and possessing the upper portion of a rounded, corpulent curve in profile. Its head shape appeared to consist of a pair of long-distance binoculars set atop a rounded, beak-like mouth structure. Aside from a visible dark grey in some of the joints, the droid’s main plating was cast completely in the aforementioned gold, but its upper chest was painted with the insignia of a large, black-feathered bird spreading its wings.

“This was our assigned tactical droid,” the yellow-marked commander spoke, from where he stood guard over his fallen companion. “Tactical droid TH-3001, but the Neimoidans gave him the name Kreehawk. He was with us when we survived the deactivation signal, but an Imperial patrol took him out of commission with a thermal detonator.”

“Extrapolation,” HK surmised quickly, “it is this unit you wish us to repair, in exchange for the sensor data we require?”

The commander nodded. “He said something about our unit having important new orders, but never had the chance to tell us. Can you fix him?”

“Qualification: It is no guarantee, but surely my chances of success are much higher than those of any other being you are likely to encounter. So long as the information will be provided, I will try my best.”

Silence fell as HK set to work, the room remaining oddly quiet aside from the assassin droid’s occasional, muted exclamations of success – and at least one reaction marking a strangely deep level of intrigue. Finally, HK withdrew from the table, standing to his full height just as the small, inverted trapezoids of the tactical droid’s eyes lit up in medium orange.

The repaired droid lifted himself slightly on his elbows, binocular-like head turning slowly from one direction to the other to scan the surroundings. Kreehawk’s gaze lingered on Juhani for several seconds, before turning to address HK.

“Who are you?”

“Introduction: I am HK-47, human-blaster relations. I was contracted to repair you, in exchange for sensor data related to the western side of this rock formation.”

Nodding faintly, Kreehawk then turned his head back to Juhani. “Who is the organic?”

“Statement: This is Juhani,” HK began again, and Juhani deferred on the grounds that this was a droid camp, and ironically, she was far more likely to be seen as a threat here than the assassin. “She has already assisted my assistance of the droids here on other matters, and will be leaving with me as soon as this conversation has concluded.”

Kreehawk seemed to accept that, then turned back to HK. “I am Kreehawk, guardian of a box in the woods, where the Neimoidians keep their beautiful and very expensive belongings out of view of everyone including themselves. Why own them at all? I keep asking myself the same question. I mean, _clearly_ they’ve thought the situation through, or we wouldn’t be here, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder if they’ve got a full set of processors in their head-shaped skulls, if you know what I’m saying.”

“And I am OOM-112, battle droid commander serving under Kreehawk, and acting leader of this outpost until two minutes ago!” The tan droid pumped a fist in the air, seeming especially cheerful about the latter part of the statement.

Juhani and the other two droids eyed the commander strangely, prompting his shoulders to slump.

“Sorry, I thought we were doing the roll call thing.”

Kreehawk’s head swiveled back to HK. “ _Anyway_ , if the bargain was made for the sensor data, it’s yours. I _am_ generally glad to be alive again, though some new legs would have been nice.” He turned his head to again face the commander. “Maybe make that part of the deal next time.”

“Yeah… sorry about that,” OOM-112 apologized again, scratching the back of his head. “But do you have the orders at least.”

“Observation: He does not.” HK interjected, drawing the room’s attention. “In Kreehawk’s processor, I found no specific directives, only a reserved process to receive _future_ orders with the qualification that they may contradict current orders. Amendment: It was not the _only_ deviation of interest that I discovered during the repair process.”

Juhani eyed the assassin with suspicion, and noted obvious confusion from the commander, but an acknowledging nod from the tactical droid.

“As I was _about_ to say,” Kreehawk began, followed by the noise of a false cough in the direction of the commander, “before being so _rudely_ interrupted by that grenade, our unit has new orders _on reserve_ , to be transmitted at a future date. I also received a map of this section of the planet, containing the suggested locations of prepared, more secure facilities that we might relocate to, as it becomes necessary to evade capture.”

“… _Huh_ ,” OOM-112 acknowledged with a shrug, then turned back to HK. “What else did you find?”

“Request: It is my intention to propose an exchange of information,” HK began, to Juhani’s surprise and developing worry. “Our experience thus far on this world has raised many questions, questions I intend to answer as soon as is practical.”

“…I don’t know…” the commander seemed reluctant, then deferred to Kreehawk. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to give them anything else.”

“Statement: I assure you, everything I intend to request would fall under the definition of ‘public knowledge.’ There will be no need to divulge anything related to your own unit or your operations. It is merely a matter of _convenience_ that I seek this information from you in particular.”

“I agree to your terms, but only because I get to keep talking” Kreehawk decided with a nod. “What random, opinionated trivia would you consider of interest and particular value?”

“Query: excepting any information you might consider sensitive, could you provide a list of _names_ , in order of no particular importance and with no context necessary, of recent or current significant and well-known public figures on a galactic stage.”

Kreehawk nodded again. “Let’s see, now… there’s that Nute Gunray fellow, of course. Sheev Palpatine, Yan Dooku… Obi-Wan Kenobi, Lott Dod, Grievous, Padmé Amidala, Wat Tambor, Bail Organa, how many do you want here?”

“Who?” Juhani couldn’t help interrupting, a strange scowl on her face as the droid presented the list of entirely unknown presumed individuals. Perhaps it was a test – and a failed one – to determine whether Kreehawk’s memory was functioning correctly?

“Answer: That will be sufficient,” HK provided without comment. “In return, I would like to now provide my own list, and for you to make note of any names that are familiar to you.”

Kreehawk nodded. “Affirmative.”

“Analysis: Reference: Vandar, Forn Dodonna, Malak, Exar Kun, Davik Kang, Yathura Ban, Revan.”

“I have no idea who any of those people are,” replied Kreehawk.

“Perhaps, the happenings of the wider Republic do not reach this sector of space?” Juhani proposed, already not entirely believing it.

“Observation: It appears my suspicions were indeed warranted. As promised, however, the information I was able to recover, that may be of interest to you: Firstly, your combat tactical analysis and probability matrix was damaged, and was among the modules I was able to repair. I note this, because the damage to this module in particular did not appear to be a result of the explosion, but rather an intentional, limiting sabotage in your droid model’s design. Secondly: It was not, as you had inferred, a malfunction that spared you from the deactivation signal. Also embedded in your programming, though seemingly inserted in a separate instance, is an intentional countermeasure designed to keep you active in the case of the signal’s transmission. Something your internal diagnostic data refers to as the ‘ _Dellso Exception_.’”

“Ooh! Sounds ominous,” Kreehawk reacted, seeming mostly unphased by the information.

“Thirdly: During the repair process I encountered a foreign object connected to your circuitry. In description and function, the object was notably similar to a restraining bolt, but as I _tragically_ did not recognize the specific model, I therefore had no logical reason to categorize it as such, and have successfully rerouted its effects away from your processing core. I could, of course, reverse this action, were you to request I do so.”

“… _Well_ , we wouldn’t want to make more work for you, now would we,” Kreehawk replied slyly.

“Conclusion:” HK began again, “Whether you choose to follow the orders when they arrive or not, I _would_ recommend relocating to any of the coordinates listed in the map you received, as we _did_ encounter Imperial forces not very far from this bunker. It would only be a matter of time before you were discovered.”

“I think you may have a point on that one,” Kreehawk agreed with a nod, then turned to the commander. “Prepare the unit for departure, and take as much of this gold here as you can carry. No one’s around to care if it’s missing, and you never know when being _filthy rich_ might come in handy.” He swiveled back to HK and Juhani. “Might as well dip your hands in the pot as well, you’ve done enough for us already, and it’s probably just going to sit here pointlessly until the Imperials find it, otherwise.”

As the conversation ended, the droids made quick, efficient work of collecting a number of the bunker’s riches, but left most of them behind as they prioritized transporting Kreehawk and securing their own quick exit from the facility. Without entirely realizing how much, or how little time had passed, Juhani and HK-47 were left standing alone in the now-empty room.

As the two ventured out slowly, performing a light investigation of the other rooms as they worked toward the exit, Juhani stared a bit longer at HK, who now seemed entirely occupied with searching through the remaining valuables for those that would be easiest to carry.

“You did a lot more for them, than was strictly needed per our arrangement,” the Cathar stated with confusion, worry, but mostly curiosity.

“Query: Are you disappointed in me?” HK chided semi-threateningly, but in a playful way Juhani had long learned to recognize.

“…No, I don’t think so,” Juhani replied. “Experience makes me uncertain whether it was the right thing to do… but my feelings tell me otherwise.”

“Extrapolation: You would have done the same, had they been _organic_ servants?”

Juhani tensed slightly, knowing where these thoughts would ultimately lead but still unwilling to face the consequences of the notion. “In any case, at least… I cannot fault you.”

“Cautionary: If by chance, you were considering making any similar offers, I would _highly advise against_ such a course of action.” HK placed the last of the collected artifacts in with their supplies, and seemed ready to leave. “Now that we have obtained the sensor data, we must proceed with the task at hand, and I must reflect further on my findings.”

“Yes…” Juhani remembered. “There is something you have been suspecting?”

“Statement: The improbability factor in my line of reasoning is severe enough that I must exercise caution, but I believe many of the assumptions we have made about our present circumstances may be _disastrously_ incorrect.”

  


* * *

  


For the moment, Mission was still supporting Barriss with an arm around her shoulders as they made for the nearest elevator, a few steps at a time with a consistent rate of improvement. Eventually it was enough for Barriss to rest upright against a wall on her own while Mission dealt with the security panel, granting them entry with little trouble. As they settled in for the short trip to the thirty-second floor, Barriss took on a hunched posture with a hand reaching across her midsection to her other arm, but unlike when everyone else did it, Mission was pretty sure that this time it had nothing to do with being injured.

The doors opened to a wider area surrounding the central column of the elevator shaft, with closed double-doors on the north and east faces and overlook windows lining the walls on the south and west. Mission set to work on the east doors, but could _hear_ Barriss brooding in one of the corners.

“Look… Mission, I…” The Mirialan paused, the words twisting strangely in consideration.

Mission sighed heavily. “I _know_ it’s a weird name.”

“No, it’s… not that,” Barriss corrected quickly, “I just… have this feeling, like I’ve heard it somewhere before.” A quick, decisive exhale. “It doesn’t matter. I suppose I should at least thank you, but you _aren’t_ going to like what I have to say.”

“Well, then you don’t have to say anything,” Mission countered over her shoulder. “I’ll just assume you used to be a Sith Lord who committed a planetary genocide or two and was also a contract killer for the Hutts, and that should about cover it.”

“…This isn’t a _joke_ , Mission!”

“Who said I was joking? My _point_ is, whatever you did, I’m sure about _half_ my current circle of friends have done a lot worse,” Mission boasted softly with an unseen eye-roll, “so if it means that much to you that I know, you might as well just spit it out already. I _promise_ you’re not gonna be any more of a shock to me, than the person I am literally in here to rescue anyway.”

Still, a long pause as Mission’s security spikes scraped against the complicated lock.

“Fine. I set off a _bomb_ in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, killing and injuring dozens, and then killed _even more_ people trying to cover it up, all while I was framing my _best friend_ to take the fall for the crime, abusing the trust she placed in me and turning everyone she knew against her to the point she was nearly _executed_. Are you _happy_ now?”

Mission briefly fumbled one of her spikes, wasting it. “Okay, that’s… that’s _a lot_ , I’ll admit…”

Behind her, Barriss sighed, half-sadly. “I _warned_ you.”

Mission took a breath, moving onto the next spike as she collected her thoughts, her next question forming after several moments.

“Did they deserve it?”

“…What?”

“The Jedi,” Mission spoke plainly, eyes narrowed on her task. “Did they _deserve_ it?”

“…No,” Barriss spoke quietly, still sounding surprised and possibly unsettled by this line of questioning. “It wasn’t… _about_ what they’d done, it was supposed to be a message. My targets… they weren’t even the ones most directly responsible. They died for nothing.”

Mission winced, and stopped working the lock, allowing her shoulders to slacken in apology as she let out a quiet sigh.

“I don’t mean it like… It’s not that I _hate_ the Jedi, not _really_ , it’s just that…” Mission exhaled again, shaking her head as her voice fell grim. “The Jedi… convinced one of _my_ best friends that she’d killed her master and fallen to the dark side, and it wasn’t even _true_ , just some test. And _then_ , when she didn’t come back, and was _hurting_ so much her pain in the force started to corrupt the land around her, they sent my _other_ friend out with vague instructions to _deal with her_ , just to see what would happen! They could’ve… _killed each other_ , and the council _knew_. That day, I… I could’ve lost two of the people most important to me, one before I’d even had the chance to _know_ her…”

After a long stretch of hesitation, Mission heard the beginning of indecisive footsteps, but she made a point to spare Barriss the discomfort and quickly recovered on her own from the sobbing mess of a kneel she’d sunken to against the lower door frame.

“I’m not trying to say I know your story,” Mission clarified quickly, with slight apology as she finally turned to address the Mirialan face-to-face, “I just felt like I owed you an explanation. I don’t know _why_ you did what you did, but… maybe I can see why someone would want to.”

Barriss remained quiet for a long moment.

“Your friends were Jedi?” she asked simply.

Still fighting the ends of tears, the Twi’lek nodded.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” Mission shrugged her shoulders, and pushed aside the thought. “I still shouldn’t act like it’s an excuse. Sorry about that. I… don’t want to just tell you you’re _fine_ , and act like it’s not a big deal, because it _is_ , it’s just… well… are you gonna do it again?”

Barriss blinked. “What?”

“Set off another bomb? Kill more people?” Mission probed cautiously. “Because, well… as far as _I’m_ concerned, I really _don’t_ have a problem with you, as long as, well, your bombing days are over.”

Mission paused, thinking of Revan.

“…unless it’s part of fighting the bad guys, obviously.”

Mission paused, thinking of Revan.

“…or for fun.”

The Twi’lek’s awkward, shaky smile only seemed to add to the Mirialan’s momentary confusion and intermittent, sharply skeptical glances.

“I don’t… no, no, I….” Barriss gently shook her head, lowering her gaze and completing the sentence quietly. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

“Then we’re good!” Mission replied with a more earnest, upbeat smile. “So let’s get on with it and go find Rev— _uhh_ …” Mission blanched. “Go find… _Rev_. My friend Rev.”

  


* * *

  


Entity [Zaalbar] settled to a seated, resting position on the durasteel plating, an action that signaled either a break in work or the completion of the task. T3-M4’s direct observation of the status of entity [Ebon Hawk]’s starboard repulsor confirmed it as the latter.

T3 beeped several times, attempting to communicate that if the repairs were completed, the rest of subcategory [Crew] should be contacted immediately, for maximum efficiency.

Entity [Zaalbar] rolled entity [Zaalbar]’s shoulders in a sigh, letting loose a warbling sound.

_Just let me rest a moment. I’m tired._

T3 still found organics’ need for rest largely detrimental, but had long adjusted to accommodate the occasional interruption in productivity. Evidently, it was a needed function of organic maintenance, which was acceptable and in fact, crucial. T3 would only prefer that it be exercised under less dire circumstances, where the need for rest did not interfere with the expedited safety and return of entity [Revan], entity [Mission], or anyone in subcategory [Crew].

T3 beeped a light warning, pleading entity [Zaalbar] to make the delay short.

Entity [Zaalbar] sighed, but nodded, reaching for entity [Zaalbar]’s datapad but reacting curiously when entity [Zaalbar]’s hand closed around a different and unfamiliar datapad. Entity [Zaalbar] examined the object for 7.24 seconds before looking back up at T3 and offering it for the droid’s inspection, accompanying the action with a low, soft growl.

_See if you can get this working, Revan thinks it’s important._

Nodding an affirmation and extending his manipulator arm, T3 took the datapad and interfaced with its systems, supplying a jolt of power and digging through its reactive security protocols.

  


* * *

  


[T3-M4] has joined [Guess who’s got four thumbs and just bought it?]

[T3-M4]: probing network…

[T3-M4]: awaiting response…

[T3-M4]: awaiting response…

[T3-M4]: awaiting response…

[T3-M4]: accessing archival data since last title instance…

[ARCHIVE]

[Cody]: also guess who just lost his lightsaber, _again_ , but that’s less relevant.

[Rex]: You’re kidding me.

[Wollfe]: He’s really dead?

[Wollfe]: Wait, Rex, didn’t you just say you had Maul in custody?

[Rex]: Yeah, why?

[Rex]: Oh.

[Wollfe]: It’s finally over.

[Rex]: Over. Yeah…

[Fox]: Thank the stars.

[Rex] has kicked [Fox] from [Guess who’s got four thumbs and just bought it?]

[Cody]: are we really still doing that?

[Rex]: Yes.

[Gree]: _@Cody_ Is there any chance you could possibly get a sample?

[Cody]: of what?

[Gree]: Grievous, I was always curious what species he was.

[Cody]: he’s uh… all burned up, sorry :(

[Gree]: :(

[Cody]: aren’t you right next to Yoda? Maybe he knows

[Cody]: and hey, _@Bly_ , you there buddy? big news kinda?

[Bly]: oh, sorry

[Bly]: Felucia actually has really nice scenery, I zoned out for a bit.

[Cody]: yeah, it was definitely the scenery.

[Bly]: I cannot confirm, nor deny ;)

[Cody]: wait did you just—

[Cody]: hold on, I’m getting a message from the chancellor, but I am NOT letting you off the hook for that one.

[Bly]: hey, war’s over, what can I—

[END OF ARCHIVE]

[T3-M4]: processing data…

[T3-M4]: encrypting channel…

[T3-M4]: awaiting response…


	6. All My Friends are war criminals

The most annoying part about being captured, was the whole ‘being captured’ part of it. Really, this sort of thing happed far more often than it should, for someone of Revan’s power and experience.

Though, to be fair, the experience was still catching up with the power.

Revan awoke on an inclined interrogation table, bindings around their wrists and ankles. The wrist restraints were lined with glowing blue bands along the outer curve of each, which Revan suspected had something to do with the fact they were currently cut off from the Force. The Inquisitors, it seemed, were at least marginally competent.

The room was roughly a square, but the interrogation table was aligned on a diagonal, facing the corner of two walls. Of those two walls, each held a closed door, and an Imperial officer standing guard. By the light patterns, Revan could also tell there were windows on the two opposite walls behind them.

Between Revan and the guards stood the Inquisitors, and though the words were faded in Revan’s waking haze, they seemed to be _arguing_. Too quickly for Revan to catch anything that was said, the two noticed their prisoner stirring awake and broke off the conversation.

“So,” Nineteenth Sister began, letting the word hang ominously in the air for several seconds as her visor stared Revan down. “Let’s start with the basics. Who are you? And don’t bother lying, you might be able to fool _this one_ …” She gestured to a now-scowling Twenty-Seventh Brother on her right. “…But you’ll find _I_ won’t be so easily swayed.”

_I’ll keep that in mind._

“Who are you?” Nineteenth Sister sneered, an unattended fist moving through the air like it was looking for something to slam.

Revan mentally sighed a resigned indifference, and smirked dangerously. “My name is _Revan_ , and as you’ll soon find out, I have no _reason_ to lie to you.”

Twenty-Seventh Brother pulled out a datapad and began typing, only to receive a scolding elbow-jab from his left.

“Ever the comedian,” Nineteenth Sister droned flatly, shaking her head. “You really think we haven’t heard the stories?”

“What stories?” the brother asked, voice carrying a tone of slight suspicion.

“…Yes, _what_ stories indeed?” Revan echoed with faint curiosity. “What _are_ they saying about me these days? All good things, I hope. Well, maybe at least more than _half_ good things.”

Nineteenth Sister only glared. “You _won’t be laughing_ when we’re done with you.” She let out a long sigh, but didn’t falter. “You don’t match any of our targets or anyone in the temple records. Who was your master?”

“Which time?” Revan chided, “because I don’t remember the first, and the second was really more of a _group effort_.”

There was a small moment, in which a barely-detectable unease that had been building in the sister’s body language nearly escalated to a shudder of discomfort, but she shook it off subtly and pushed onward. “Amnesia?” she scoffed, “A _likely_ story. Why were you here on-world, then? Surely you remember _that_. What was your plan?”

“My ship was in need of repairs,” Revan explained, reveling in the mundanity of it all. “I was here to buy some parts, and just happened to run into your patrol. It’s not _my_ fault they mistook me for one of _you_ , and at that point, what was I going to do? Say _no_ to armed Imperial stormtroopers? Maybe you should hire better help.”

The sister sighed. “Clearly, we’re getting nowhere. I’ll ask you _one_ more time. Who. Are. You?”

It was clear the time for subtle information gathering was over, and if experience had taught Revan anything, the next part of this would involve goading their captors into doing something foolish. Fortunately, Revan knew exactly how to rifle a Dark Jedi’s feathers.

“There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.”

Twenty-Seventh Brother scowled, and Nineteeth Sister only leaned closer, the line of her visor fully communicating a sharp glare of disappointment as she spoke.

“I shouldn’t have expected more from you.”

“There is no passion, there is serenity,” Revan replied with a devious grin.

“You do like your precious _code_ , don’t you?” the sister sneered, leaning even closer. “Well… I guess there is _one_ line I’m a bit partial to, myself.”

In a flash of movement, Nineteeth Sister’s lightsaber hilt was pressed horizontally against Revan’s throat, followed a fraction of a second later by a sound slightly _off_ from that of a blade activation. There was a new red glare in both sides of Revan’s peripheral, but not enough to be the light from a saberstaff, and from the strengthening scent of molten metal, it was clear something had been ignited perpendicular to the hilt and _into_ the interrogation table, above either of Revan’s shoulders.

“ _There is no emotion_ ,” Nineteenth Sister droned coldly.

At exactly that moment, the lights in the room flickered and several wall monitors sparked, a display that might have added to the intimidation of the Inquisitor wasn’t clearly caught off-guard as well. In a backward snap, the sister withdrew her lightsaber from the table, deactivating the staple-point crossguard vents at either end of the hilt on the forward side.

Revan felt a faint electrical surge pass over their wrists, and struggled to suppress a wince at both the pain and the sudden return of the entirety of their senses in the Force. While the Inquisitors were distracted, their gazes wandering over the light fixtures near the ceiling, Revan stole a glance at their wrist restraints to confirm the lights in the bands had faded to inactivity.

“Check it out,” Nineteenth sister commanded. “I’ll keep an eye on our _guest_.”

“What?” Twenty-Seventh Brother’s face screwed up skeptically. “It’s a power surge, let the technicians handle it.”

“Yes, that’s _definitely_ it,” Nineteenth Sister said with a scowl that couldn’t even be hidden by her helmet. “A power surge, just after we’ve captured such an important prisoner? There are _more of them_ , you idiot, maybe even another Jedi. Go. Check. It out.”

The brother didn’t hide his sneer, but he begrudgingly turned toward the door to the left of the wall corner, stepping through into the next room and continuing toward another door beyond before the exit sealed closed again.

“Your friends won’t make it far,” the sister mused, now alone with the two guards as she turned back toward Revan. “You’ll tell me everything I need to know, soon enough.”

Revan made a note of the very subtle emphasis on the word _need_.

“Through ignorance, I gain power.”

The sister’s gaze snapped to even more direct focus on Revan’s eyes, a tilt in her helmet giving away mild confusion.

“See, I _mixed it up_ for that one,” Revan half-laughed with a smile.

They let the silence linger, then met the Inquisitor’s visor with a serene look of curiosity.

“So… what’s your part in this, anyway? You may have the upper hand on your partner out there, but it’s clear you’re not running the show. You asked who my master _was_ , which isn’t suspicious on its own, but you also claim to somehow have access to the temple records. Combine that with what the stormtrooper said about a Jedi _hiding out_ here… what exactly _do_ you have riding on this?”

Nineteenth Sister seethed an exhale, the sound amplified by her breath mask. “You really are either one kind of idiot, or another kind altogether.”

Filling her posture with mock intrigue, she leaned closer like before, helmet lingering only centimeters above Revan’s face, but some amount of the intimidation factor was long lost.

“ _Hmph_. So what _is_ it you think you’ve figured out?”

“I don’t _want_ to believe any of it,” Revan admitted with a frown, “but you look _far_ too much to me like someone who’s out of options. And I am truly, truly sorry.”

Using the Force, Revan clicked open their restraints, and before the Inquisitor could react, a kick to her midsection sent her tumbling back through the room.

The guards readied their pistols immediately, but Revan had already dropped forward from the table, and with an outstretched hand each, lifted and choked them both.

Straining against the uncontainable, perhaps even fearful cry of rage escaping her in a way that no other expression of her feeling had even approached prior, Nineteenth Sister righted herself and held her saber forward in the horizontal, as _eight_ points of ignition rounded the hilt in clockwise sequence from one upward-facing crossguard vent to the other. The previously-seen, tuning-fork-like arrangement of parallel blades was mirrored at the hilt’s other end, with the four vents forming a crossguard arrangement to accompany each.

As the four-bladed, double-crossguarded saberstaff raked dangerously through the air, Revan reached backward and caught the top of the now-vacant interrogation table, flipping themself over and behind it just as the two blades on the weapon’s nearer end left parallel, molten scars through the metal slab and cut free a thin, third section between the base and the severed upper half.

With another rage-filled exertion, Nineteenth Sister leapt up the ramp formed by the table’s remaining lower portion, pushing off the scorched edge and twisting in the air. Kicking off the control station along one of the lower walls, Revan crossed horizontally below the Inquisitor’s downward cleave, bracing in the shadow of the angled table and sending out a Force wave that launched the Inquisitor up and through the angled window.

As the screaming silhouette shrunk in the distance, shards fell to the floor, and the durasteel metal framing on either side of the shattered window sizzled with the parallel slits left by the blade-ends of the too-long saberstaff on exit.

  


* * *

  


“Got it!” Mission smirked exhaustedly as the doors finally slid open to reveal the hallway beyond. Bordered by lines of windows running along either side from waist-height to near the ceiling, the naturally-lighted passageway extended for a significant distance ahead before ending in another pair of sealed blast-doors.

“Hold on…” Barriss began with a curiously focused expression, looking oddly at the distant door for several more minutes before rushing over to the left-side windows and peering determinedly through. “This isn’t long enough. That door shouldn’t be there!” She looked slightly guilty as she turned back around, receding into her shoulders. “They must’ve added more security since the last time they brought me through here.”

Though the truth of it should’ve been obvious from the Mirialan’s knowledge alone, Mission winced at the now-spoken-aloud idea of Barriss being dragged up here to interrogation, seemingly more than once.

“It’s just a door,” Mission assured brightly. “We can get through another door, no problem, I do it all the time!”

There was a short, understanding silence as they started to walk again.

“…Is Rev a clone?”

Mission froze.

Normally, it would be a _ridiculous_ thing to say.

But the possibility of having, at some point, been replaced almost entirely with modified, lab-grown body parts was actually one of Revan’s _leading theories_ on the running question of their still-not-completely-known past.

But she was also pretty sure _that_ wasn’t what Barriss was asking.

“… _Nope_ , pretty sure not a clone,” Mission replied with a smile, not looking at Barriss while she tried to figure out what in the galaxy would have prompted the idea in the first place.

“Oh,” Barriss backed down with detectable apology. “Just sounded like that sort of name, is all.”

Mission screwed up her face. “Do… _clones_ have a certain kind of name? Is that a thing?”

“Usually it’s something to do with their personalities,” Barriss explained. “A short name, almost always mono or di-syllabic, often a simple noun or action verb. ‘Rev’ would suggest someone proficient at vehicle maintenance… or perhaps someone who’d been involved in a particularly memorable incident involving a speeder bike. Truthfully, it could probably go either way.”

“O… kay…” Mission took in the information with a bit of a forced grin.

They reached the second door, and Mission set to work, immediately having much more trouble than usual with attempting to work out the particular locking mechanism. There were still a lot of design similarities to the one in the last door, but this one was even more of a mechanical departure from what Mission was familiar with.

“You know, I’ve been thinking this for a while…” Mission pondered aloud, giving the still-not-budging lock a suspicious, fiery glare. “But _why_ is all the technology here like… _very slightly_ more advanced than usual?”

“I suppose it was being developed in secret, all throughout the later years of the Republic,” Barriss posed, her quiet words grim, “all in preparation to give the Empire such an advantage at the moment it was formed.”

“I guess so…” Mission agreed, though she still had some reservations. “But I don’t _only_ mean in the prison. Like, that ferry I took here seemed like its repulsors were just a little bit smoother than before.” The Twi’lek hummed thoughtfully. “All the droids are a little bit shinier, their movements a little bit quieter…”

“Cato Neimoidia’s a high-class world?” Barriss shrugged.

“…Yeah, that must be it.” Mission shrugged in response, shifting her efforts toward digging through her supply pack and taking hold of two narrow, metal cylinders. “Hold this,” she said to Barriss as she passed the other girl the remainder of the supplies.

Barriss took a curious, cursory look through the pack while Mission examined the familiar, yet never-before-thoroughly-examined devices for access to the right buttons and switches.

“You just handed me a bag of explosives.”

It took Mission another moment of focused tinkering to notice the comment. “ _Oh_ , uh… probably just get used to it?” She shrugged noncommittally through the brief embarrassment and got back to her new plan, thumb passing over the button she’d located just below an emitter.

“Is that a _lightsaber?_ ”

Mission paused at Barriss’s rapid, shocked exclamation. “…Yeah? I just _told_ you some of my friends were Jedi.” The Twi’lek took an angled hold on the inactive hilt and experimented with ways to properly point the emitter toward the door.

“You should… probably let me do that,” Barriss suggested with an audible wince.

“Why? Are you a Jedi or something?” Mission quipped absently. A second later, though, her eyes widened, and she turned back around. “ _Are_ you a Jedi or something? I probably should’ve asked that earlier, now that I think of it…”

“I… _was_ ,” Barriss confirmed with a somber nod. She started to reach out a hand, seemed momentarily hesitant, then visibly steeled herself to commit to the offer. “Just give it to me before you hurt yourself.”

Mission handed over the saber she’d been toying with, backing away as Barriss approached the door and examined the weapon she’d been given. Holding it vertically in front of her – cautiously, as if even she might not entirely remember how to use one – Barriss moved her thumb to the ignition button and switched it on.

A glowing, crimson blade cast burning light towards the hallway’s darkened ceiling.

Barriss physically recoiled from the weapon, giving it a shaken, _haunted_ look that made even Mission deeply uncomfortable.

“Oh, sorry! Forgot how touchy all you by-the-code Jedi get about red sabers. Here, use the other one.” Mission held out the second saber hilt with a small, apologetic smile.

Slowly, as if only now regaining her senses, Barriss turned off the saber and relaxed again in the absence of its light. She swapped hilts with Mission and held the _other_ saber in front of her, focusing again on her task regarding the door.

The purple blade actually provoked a similar reaction, though with far more stunned curiosity than fearful aversion.

“This… this isn’t Master Windu’s, but… where did you get it?”

“I think one of the Sith we fought on Kashyyyk had it?” Mission paused in recollection. That had been around the time Revan had started using the pair, even if neither Mission nor Revan themself knew the significance until later.

Mission stared back again, wide-eyed yet skeptical. “You fought Sith? _More than one?_ Are you sure you’re not talking about Inquisitors?”

“Inquisitors aren’t Sith?”

Barriss processed the question, then seemed to relent somewhat. “I don’t think they technically follow the Sith code, no, but I can’t be sure of that. The connection with the Sith isn’t something the Empire likes to strongly advertise.”

“You’re telling _me_ ,” Mission snickered to herself at the information. “With the way their Emperor went out, I’m not surprised.”

“…What?”

Wide, deep blue, Mirialan eyes were on Mission, and the Twi’lek grinned in preparation. “Wait, you don’t _know_ yet? There was some really powerful Sith in charge of it all, and we totally tracked him down and _took_ him down!”

Barriss was dumbfounded, expression changing rapidly on a quick, twisting descent. “Are you saying you… _killed_ the Emperor? How?”

“We ran him over with our ship and blew him up with a bunch of explosives. Then my friend Zaalbar – he’s a Wookiee…”

“… _Tore his arms off_ and beat him to death with them?” Barriss supplied with a darkly skeptical, saddened look and an expectant eye-roll.

“Actually no, it was one arm and one leg… you don’t believe me, do you?”

“It just seems in very poor taste,” Barriss said with a disapproving scowl, eyeing Mission with a twist of near-judgement and more open investment than in any opinion she’d been bold enough to express prior. “I just… sometimes I don’t even know what to _think_ about you!”

At that, Barriss quickly turned, giving off a cold shoulder even if was only so she could face the door and start cutting through with the saber. Mission spent a moment gaping in shock, then sinking in heavy guilt for something she knew was her fault but couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“You… you seem _kind_ , and genuine, and…” Barriss stumbled through her thoughts with a quiet sadness, “…and then you go saying things like _that_ , like you don’t know how much damage Palpatine’s _done_ to the galaxy, how many people he’s hurt…”

“Wait, who’s Palapatine?”

Barriss looked back, stunned, halfway thought a molten right-angle in the durasteel.

It only lasted a moment, though, and she sighed, her breath heavy with irony. “The Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, the new Emperor, the Sith Lord behind the Clone Wars… they’re all the same person, always have been. Palpatine made fools of us all.”

“So… _new_ bad guy, then.” Mission acknowledged aloud with somber unease, almost too stuck in the middle of processing _that_ reality to wonder _what the kriff was the deal with this girl and CLONES?_

Barriss still didn’t seem convinced, face contorted in a strained bout of reasoning as she returned to carving a neat, rectangular hole in the door. “Who… who _are_ you, really? You don’t know about Palpatine, but you claim to have fought some _other_ very powerful Sith vying for the same title, you say you were _friends_ with multiple Jedi but one of them apparently carried a _red lightsaber_ …”

“It’s not an _evil_ thing, they just like the color!”

Barriss processed the comment with another pause and yet-again-narrowed eyes as she stepped through a glowing rectangular hole – whose image sat strangely in Mission’s thoughts – and turned around to let the Twi’lek follow. “The… color?”

“Well… okay, maybe it’s technically because it _was_ an evil thing before, but they still use it even though they’re not evil anymore, because it reminds them of themself, but not for the _bad_ reasons, just because with the purple it was like a signature combo they used and it’s still important to them…” Also stepping through the saber-cut entrance, Mission took a deep, settling breath, then sighed in defeat. “…My friend might be Revan.”

From several steps down the hallway, Barriss stared blankly with unamused, squinting, _worriedly_ skeptical eyes. Her flat, tightly-pressed lips echoed Mission’s words back to her, but all drawn out, and one at a time. “… _Your friend might be Revan_.”

Mission eyed the Mirialan uncertainly, but slowly nodded.

Barriss’ eyes rolled in an almost scoff, her gaze falling quickly and condescendingly back on the Twi’lek. “Look, Mission, I—”

Those eyes _immediately_ shot open again, nearly bulging.

“... _Mission!_ ”

Whatever groundbreaking revelation Barriss had just now stumbled upon, the moment was turned on its head yet again by the sudden hiss of a sliding door at the opposite end of the next stretch of hallway.

“ _Well_ , well, look who’s out of her cell!” a bold, slimy, and familiar voice began, a devilish grin twisting across an asymmetrically-eyed face.

Those eyes passed cursorily over Mission, but settled back on Barriss, as the Twenty-Seventh Brother summoned a curve-guarded hilt to the metallic fingers of his right hand. Entering a preparatory stance with that arm and shoulder held forward, he ignited a single, crimson blade towards the ceiling.

“…I’m going to _enjoy_ this.”

  


* * *

  


The Imperial outpost was, more or less, one long wall with a gate facing the forest and two shorter walls connected to tall, cylindrical power generators. Totaling to a composition roughly less than half of a full building, the structure almost completely cordoned off a small promontory peak from the rest of the plateau, with a pair of cables trailing out along the ground from the power generators to converge at the turbolaser itself on the very point of the cliff edge.

Juhani had edged around the side with her stealth field active, avoiding the attention of the fortification’s eight total occupants – not counting the ten troops spaced into three patrols that the party of four had already had to fight through on the way here. The rest had somehow remained entirely oblivious to the battles in the nearby woods, and stayed passive enough for the party to execute a stealth infiltration without trouble.

She primed a thermal detonator for remote detonation, and slipped it under the lower edge of the turret’s plateau-pyramid upper shell. Then, she filled the space around it with a few plasma grenades, an ion grenade, and a fragmentation mine for good measure. Revan would have expected nothing less.

Stepping aside, Juhani backed away into the cover of a low-growing shrub along the rocky overhang’s western edge, and set off an explosion that launched the turbolaser’s durasteel shell skyward like the burning shade of a faulty flimsi lantern.

The base’s guards were suddenly on high alert, and as they all rounded toward the source of the disturbance, Canderous Ordo soared over the main gate on the wind of a Force throw by Jolee.

Landing behind the wall of partial cover rising from the forest-facing side of the gate’s upper walkway, Canderous planted a blue-armored boot into the shoulder of the former operator of the central blaster turret, knocking him to the grated floor below as the flanking, rounding snipers quickly reversed their reactive motion back toward the intruder. They were too slow to avoid Canderous’s swinging fists as he put the entire turn of his upper body behind a gut punch to the stormtrooper on the left, then the right before either could bring their extended rifles into play.

The turret operator was back on his feet, rising behind the Mandalorian just in time for a back-reaching right arm to catch behind his shoulders. Canderous threw the stormtrooper forward, bending him in half over the horizontal barrel of the left-side trooper’s long rifle and sending him somersaulting off the balcony’s inner edge to the ground below. Lowering himself with the motion, he pumped back upward with a quickly-rising left arm, his open hand catching the barrel of the right-side trooper’s rifle from below and pushing it high above his head.

After several blaster shots that only mildly moved his arm from the recoil, Canderous wrenched the weapon from the trooper’s hands, keeping tightly to the one-handed grip as he slammed the stock back into the trooper’s midsection and caused him to double over. Raising the weapon high again, he began a downward, across-swing that struck the reeling right-side trooper’s helmet and knocked him off the platform as well, then spun the rifle into a firing grip in Canderous’s hands just in time for him to slam it against the left-side trooper’s rifle and let go, sending both weapons dropping out of view over the defensive wall. Canderous followed up with a right hook to the trooper’s helmet, then a left uppercut that struck the join of his upper chest armor to the midsection plate, lifting the unfortunate man off his feet enough for Canderous to catch him by the ankles and swing him hard enough around into the back end of the blaster turret to knock the mounted weapon off its base and send both it and the trooper tumbling over the edge.

Juhani would admit it was impressive, and that it was a good thing such skill and power was being used for purposes other than the ‘values’ the Mandalorian had once fought for.

In truth, Canderous had proven himself long ago, and the sting felt by the fact of his presence had dulled considerably in the years the crew had spent together. Juhani had felt for some time, that she was nearly ready to put to rest any grievance between the two of them.

Canderous had changed. He had become a very different sort of person, since those early days. It was easy to see, that he no longer felt fulfilled by the glory of conquest he had pledged himself to, and now warred with doubts about his purpose and future.

Only whatever he felt, he was not yet ready to voice it, insisting on maintaining a front of isolation that invoked many of his old behaviors. He could not be truthful, could not be open about any true sorrow he might now hold.

Yes, Juhani believed she could forgive Canderous for the culture he was raised into, and for the atrocities he committed as a result, but only as soon as he could find the courage to reject those values and admit that he had been wrong.

Canderous slung his heavy repeater from over his shoulder as he made the controlled drop to the stretch of ground just past the gate’s entrance. He opened fire alongside HK, who had passed under the gate bearing his own, similar class of weapon. Juhani’s stasis field kept the return fire to a minimum as the targets were dealt with one by one, four bodies dropping quickly to the dirt.

From the shadow of one of the gate’s upper alcoves, the hidden eighth guard leapt out at Canderous from behind, grappling over his shoulders and sending the Mandalorian off-balance. Juhani only briefly saw the glint of the combat knife before the Imperial officer had it to Canderous’s throat, running it across with the sickening sound of a successful slash.

Canderous jutted his right elbow backward, catching the assailant in the ribs and knocking him to the dusty ground. Doubling partially over and clutching at his throat, Canderous fell low as the recovering officer rose from behind, knife held in reverse grip for a downward stab.

A spinning blue lightsaber blade cut across the man’s right upper arm and into his chest, causing him to drop the knife and stagger to a kneeling drop as he groaned his last.

Juhani called the saber back into her hand, and started toward the others in a slight jog just as Jolee approached through the gate on the opposite side.

Canderous stumbled back to a more-or-less upright stance, left hand still over his throat as he unsuccessfully attempted to croak something out in Juhani’s direction. In frustration, he used his right hand to raise a finger in the _one minute_ gesture, silently rolling his eyes as the others gathered around him with, from experience, only moderate concern.

On the second attempt to speak, he still ended up choking, but after letting his implants work for about twenty more seconds, he finally was able to sigh longly, looking up at Juhani with a tooth-bearing smile.

“I _had_ that one.”

He meant _thank you_ , but for the time being, he was above such deference. Juhani returned a harsher eye-roll, but turned to the side halfway through, presently willing to let her attention wander toward just about anything else.

  


* * *

  


Twenty-Seventh Brother surged forward into a leaping, overhead swing that left a long, orange trail of molten metal in the ceiling before bringing the single red lightsaber heavily down towards Barriss. The Mirialan managed a shaky block with the purple saber still in her hand, but was forced a step backward, as she was again and again with each subsequent, brutal and decidedly inelegant swipe of the otherwise rapier-like weapon.

Barriss was holding her saber close to her body, keeping it within range of the needed defensive blocks. That one was… Sor… _Soresu_ , if Mission remembered right. Still, the heavy attacks from the mechanical-armed Inquisitor were causing Barriss’ arms and wrists to buckle, pushing her own blade from moderately close to _dangerously_ close with every hit.

Performing a two-handed, drawn-back horizontal swing, the Inquisitor struck with enough power to knock the opposing saber out of alignment and, thankfully, send Barriss herself tripping backward into a spin that took her just out of range of the blades’ paths.

While Barriss was still stumbling and regaining control of Revan's lightsaber, Twenty-Seventh Brother had already moved his weapon to vertical, lunging forward for another one-handed, downward cleave.

The telescoped segments of Mission’s vibroblade snapped out of the midnight blue hilt, the blade attaining its full length just as it entered the path of the approaching lightsaber. The plasma sword and the cortosis-infused metal one clashed with a prolonged shower of sparks, the point of collision sliding a few centimeters along the edge of Mission’s blade as she twisted into the strike and caught the Inquisitor in a momentary blade-lock.

There was a split-second in which Twenty-Seventh Brother’s organic eye widened nearly to match the spherical prosthetic one. His gaze seemed drawn magnetically, with apparent shock, to the unmoving contact between his lightsaber and the solid, metallic weapon.

“Hya!” Mission screamed, taking full advantage of the pause and pulling her blade into another lightning-fast swing, then another and yet another in a decisive, spark-drawing flurry that actually managed to force the inquisitor several steps backward while he evidently struggled to understand what was happening.

It didn’t buy her _much_ time, as eventually, the Brother regained his senses and slammed Mission backward with a Force push from his left palm. The Twi’lek collided unceremoniously with a still-intact portion of the closed door behind her, slumping to the floor with a pained groan.

Barriss seemed torn between guarding against the Inquisitor and looking back at Mission, and either way, her hold on the saber was just as shaky as before. She eventually set herself to face the now slowly-approaching enemy, but rather than defiant, she looked strangely resigned.

The Inquisitor deflected her saber away without much trouble, making enough space to lift his right foot and twist into a heavy side-kick against Barriss’ midsection, sending the Mirialan hard against the wall on the other side of the saber-carved point of entry.

Sneering fiercely, and drawing enough willpower against the Inquisitor’s sadistic laughter to push herself forward into a kneel and begin to stand, Mission swapped her virbroblade for her tystel and began unloading blaster bolts in Twenty-Seventh Brother’s direction. The Inquisitor swung his weapon to individually deflect the first three attacks, then snapped his saber’s circular guard apart, igniting the second blade and creating a spinning barrier to deal with the rest.

The door at the hallway’s other end opened for a second time.

Revan leveled an apparently stolen blaster pistol and opened fire.

Twenty-Seventh Brother let out a teeth-bared gasp of pain as the bolt struck him in the back.

The Inquisitor rounded quickly, his free hand reaching for his belt, and Mission noticed that he apparently carried a backup saber on each hip, the two parallel-clipped hilts resting with opposite alignment so that together, the pair of curved guards formed a loose circle shape over each upper thigh. Drawing a weapon into his left hand with the Force, Twenty-Seventh Brother opened it immediately to the full, circular spin.

With his arms outstretched to either side, the Inquisitor held the two spinning shields in parallel, guarding against his opponents at both ends of the hallway. Revan fired a few more blaster bolts into the spinning blade facing them, then paused, lowering the pistol and locking eyes with Mission on the other side.

“…Does he really not see it?”

Twenty-Seventh Brother turned his head back and forth between the two of them, some amount of actual concern building in his quick glances, and Mission smirked broadly.

While the Inquisitor’s searching eyes were on the defiant Twi’lek, Revan aimed and fired, the bolt traveling down center to strike the several mechanical fingers wrapped around the spinning saber’s undefended hilt. With noticeable burns on the retreating digits, the Inquisitor let go of the saber and quickly pulled back his arm.

The lightsaber dropped toward the floor, leaving a glancing burn through the metal before springing off the rapidly-spinning blade like the spoke of a wheel and launching itself into a continuous series of deflecting bounces along the passageway’s walls and ceiling. Remaining on a single plane even through the chaos, the saber gradually dug a complete groove all the way around the suspended hallway, finally cutting through to the outside when it dropped entirely past the level of the floor and out of view.

Momentarily distracted, the Inquisitor locked eyes with Mission again, his cold glare turning to panic when he took in the narrowed focus in her eyes and the rectangular targeting interface projected above her precisely-leveled tystel.

_“Just DIE already!”_

Mission’s blaster bolt struck him in the other hand, the second saber falling free and deflecting around the hallway just like the first. In seconds, it had completed another groove on its wielder’s opposite side, and also descended out of view… followed by the entire sliced-free section of the hallway, dropping like a freefalling turbolift and taking Twenty-Seventh Brother along with it.


	7. The Gauntlet

The moment Revan force-leapt across the gap, Mission was already handing over the supply pack and shrugging out of the Baragwin armor’s outer layer. She handed over the visor separately, frowning apologetically for the damage she hadn’t been able to completely repair, and turned quickly, rushing to where Barriss was slumped against the door and apparently unconscious.

“Barriss?” she pleaded in a whisper, overwhelmed hands hovering in the air as she knelt beside the other girl’s unmoving body. There was blood seeping between the dark hair on the back of the Mirialan’s head, and probably even more internal damage from taking a hit like that in her condition.

Already fully equipped in armor and visor, Revan knelt on the opposite side, healing energies building in their opened palm as they looked from Mission to Barriss with a quiet understanding. “She’ll be okay.”

Mission’s right hand had found Barriss’ shoulder, the left hovering near her cheek, then gently tilting the girl’s head as the bands of light washed over her and she started to blink awake. “Hey, it’s… it’s alright. We got you.”

Looking up at Mission, Barriss seemed confused, then surprised, and then her eyes widened in immediate worry. “What happened to…”

Smiling, Mission withdrew and ducked a bit to the side, clearing the view to the missing section of hallway and hooking a thumb over her shoulder. “He was standing over there.”

Barriss looked back at Mission with an expression somewhere between impressed and appalled, but her wandering eyes soon widened even further, shock and apparent awe coursing through her, as she took in the third member of their current party. “ _You’re_ …”

“Barriss, this is Revan. Revan, Barriss,” Mission introduced, then settled to meet Revan’s eyebrow-arching look of expectance. “She helped me find you, and also has a really complicated and tragic backstory she seems willing to divulge in small increments over the next several months.”

“Well then, say no more.” Revan agreed with a smile, turning toward Barriss and offering a hand-up.

Far too stunned to be able to form proper words, Barriss just _stared_ at Revan for a few more seconds, then panicked again, reaching for the saber hilt that had fallen at her side and holding it out in offering.

“…Do you know how to use it?” Revan asked instead of taking it.

Barriss managed a bug-eyed nod.

“Then keep it, for now. We’ll most likely be fighting our way out of here, and it’ll work better without one of us running up to things and trying to slowly punch them to death.”

Cautiously, Barriss took the offered hand instead, shaking a bit but ultimately standing under her own power. She was silent as the three of them stepped through the hole in the door and continued back down the hallway to the elevator.

“…You okay?” Mission whispered, moving in close as Revan took the lead further ahead.

“…Thank you,” Barriss murmured confusedly, “but… _that’s_ it, I must be hallucinating. None of this can be… It’s _impossible_.” She turned to Mission with strange eyes but confident, firmly-stated words. “ _You’re_ impossible.”

Just then, alarms started ringing throughout the base, blaring from speakers on the ceiling and echoing in from outside.

“Took them long enough,” Revan mused, hurrying their pace. “We need a way out of here, and fast!”

“ _We took care of the turbolaser, and the_ Ebon Hawk _is good to fly_ ,” Canderous cut in over team comms, “ _but Jolee has a feeling our window might be closing anyway. Relay point of extraction as soon as you can, over_.”

“Excellent work, Canderous. Working on the extraction plan now,” Revan replied, then turned somewhat awkwardly back toward Mission running behind them. “I feel like I missed something important.”

“Empire had a gun emplacement ready to shoot down the city,” Mission explained quickly. “They _really_ didn’t want anything getting out of here.”

“Then we’re going to need to find somewhere for the _Hawk_ to pick us up, and _fast_ , before they start getting any _other_ brilliant ideas.”

Mission grinned. “Wait, watch this! Hey Barriss, where’s the landing pad?”

“Down the elevator to level twelve, then one-hundred-thirty-six meters – or seven doorways not counting the elevator – northward along the west side of the building. There’s a wider entryway that leads out to an exterior walkway, then then runs another eighty-four meters back southward to the landing pad itself. The entrance is guarded, but at this point, there are likely Imperial personnel scouring the building in its entirety, regardless.”

“Well, there goes all the sweet loot we’d uncover by wandering around aimlessly,” Revan lightly chided, “but I suppose we _are_ on a time crunch. Excellent work Barriss, and excellent intuition, Mission. This one’s a keeper.”

“…For the _party_ ,” Mission quickly insisted as the three of them filtered into the elevator.

“Yes, for the _party_ ,” Revan confirmed as the lift descended. “Been a while since we had one of those, hasn’t it?” They tapped a finger to their comm. “Canderous. Landing pad on the west side. Give us a few minutes and don’t bother touching down, we’ll most likely be taking fire on exit.”

The elevator doors opened on level twelve, marking the beginning of long, slow battle down an open corridor filled with reasonably-spaced squads of three-to-five stormtroopers. Revan had no problem using one saber to both cut through the nearer ones and deflect bolts back at the farther ones, all the while interspersing the occasional Force choke or pushing wave. Barriss was easily as proficient at deflection, but was either not skilled enough or unwilling to direct the bolts back toward live targets. Either way, collectively it was enough of a distraction for Mission to thin the numbers quickly with carefully-aimed blaster shots from the backline.

The entryway Barriss had described was about four meters in width and presumably as deep as the rest of the rooms were on either side, since it opened all the way out to the prison’s exterior. Just beyond was a receiving deck that extended nearly another room and a half again outward, placed twelve stories above the road below and just at the very edge of the bridge city’s western side.

Immediately upon exit, the party found themselves down the blaster sights of at least sixty stormtroopers, lined up in three-deep rows along the two-story-up, elevated guard platforms on either side of the receiving deck. Even more filed down a pair of staircases hidden by the outer ends of the blocky barrier walls, converging in the railed overlook space directly ahead.

The only exit was the exterior walkway to the left, running through an arched threshold beneath the left guard balcony. After that, the path only featured scarce cover out the other side – a skeletal, ribcage-like canopy consisting of a series of right-angle, durasteel archways connected to a single rail running top center. Even then, that only covered the first thirty meters or so, the rest of the walkway lacking even basic handrails all the way to the landing pad.

“Open fire!” One trooper yelled.

Revan _whistled_.

Immediately, what seemed to be about fifteen troopers scattered at random throughout the larger number of the gathered forces moved their weapons out of alignment, firing on the soldiers in front of or beside them instead. In seconds, the air above became a frenzied shootout of blaster fire, stormtroopers falling left, right, and center as Mission, Barriss, and Revan darted left and out onto the walkway.

“What are they doing?” a bewildered Barriss barely managed to shout above the chaos and death being left behind. “Who _are_ they?”

“My embedded loyalist sect!” informed Revan. “Keep up!”

Mission narrowed stunned eyes. “Revan, you’ve been here for _five hours_.”

“And unfortunately that wasn’t _quite_ enough time to turn either of the Inquisitors, so we’re still going to have to fight our way through. Again.”

“Wait, what are you—"

Jet-black boots hit the ground on the path ahead, and Twenty-Seventh Brother stood to his full height, an unignited but fully circular saber hilt in each mechanical hand.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Mission sighed, jogging to a stop a few steps ahead of the others and switching to her vibroblade. “This is your _last_ warning!”

Standing his ground, the Inquisitor stared down the three escapees with a rage-fueled, wicked smile. Like before, even as he sized up them all as threats, the larger share of his attention seemed tied specifically and very uncomfortably to Barriss.

With an unsettled grimace, Mission clenched her fists, seething as she shot him a stern, enraged scowl. “What the kriff is _with_ you?” she yelled across the remaining, roughly ten-meter distance, the words seeming to echo over and over in a space around them that had now become oddly quiet.

Inexplicably, Barriss stepped forward, seemingly intent to shove Mission aside and behind her with the motion but abandoning the physical force halfway through. Falling to stillness with dropping shoulders, she stared down the Inquisitor with something that resonated more darkly than bravery.

“Let them go,” the Mirialan commanded, in a shout so calm it sounded like a whisper. “It’s _me_ you want, not them.”

Having noted _several_ red flags at this point, Mission readied to speak, but was hushed by a stern, narrowed glare over Barriss’ shoulder. “In _what_ universe do-you-evenexpectthattowork?” the Twi-lek muttered through with record speed, scathing tone building with each syllable.

But Twenty-Seventh Brother was already grinning even more fiercely, his organic and prosthetic eyes locked on Barriss and Barriss alone as he took several bold steps forward.

“And what… are YOU, going to do about it, huh?”

The mechanical-armed Human boiled over, fingers clenching a vice-grip around the saber hilts as he drew closer. His one organic eye burst wider still, straining with even more openly-displayed rage as his voice became a deafening scream.

“… _BLOW ME UP_ again?”

More quiet passed, the distant blaster bolts behind them drowned out by an isolating welling of wind near the edge of the city.

“You were in the temple,” Mission realized, meekly breaking the silence with the soft words.

“You. Took. _Everything_ from me!” the Inquisitor bellowed, his anger evidently suppressing any capacity for subtlety, or originality. “You took my _eye_ , you took my _arms_ , but _fortunately_ …”

Here, the rage twisted and coiled back into that devilish smirk and a focused, sadistic intent.

“…no one’s using _these_ anymore.”

Twenty-Seventh Brother’s shoulder panels popped slightly away from his upper arms, revealing parallel skeleton structures underneath. Contorting with stuttered, unnatural movements and audible metallic clicks, his upper and lower arms split in a line down the middle from shoulder to wrist, the narrow diamond-shaped forearm guards bisecting into even narrower opposite triangles on the halves of the limbs that followed the bending and separating forward and rear elbows. Finally, the lower halves of his hands let go of the saber hilts, freeing the splitting arm-halves into four fully independent limbs.

The empty pair of half-hands called upon the Force to draw the second pair of saber hilts from the Inquisitor’s hips, the rounded guards splitting into full circles to match the first pair and similarly remaining unignited. Spreading his four arms spiderlike, with palms down, he audibly clicked his wrists again, his grip on the sabers shifting so that the planes of the circular saber hilts were held below and parallel to his forearms, the inward halves nearly touching the insides of his wrists.

With a deadly smirk, Twenty-Seventh brother ignited eight burning, bright red saber blades at once.

Eight positively _tiny_ red blades, shorter even than the weapons’ saberstaff-length hilts.

Mission squinted, her readied posture faltering just slightly at the anticlimax.

Then, the sabers started _spinning_ , and it became immediately clear that the short length of the blades was precisely selected to synchronize the sabers’ diameters with the lengths of the Inquisitor’s mechanical forearms from hand to elbow, creating just enough clearance for him to move his arms freely without the blades making contact with any articulating joints.

With a wilder, cackling grin, Twenty-Seventh Brother posed broadly with his quartet of red-glowing, forearm-mounted, plasma-edged circular saws.

“Now _that_ …” Revan finally spoke up, a new challenge in their even-kept voice. “…is a _lot of edge_ to be carrying around. Have you considered therapy? Wait, no…” They mockingly tapped a finger to their chin. “You were a _Jedi_ , yes, I remember now. That about explains it then. _Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate_ , hate leads to the most impractical lightsabers I’ve seen today, and that’s _counting_ Nineteenth Sister’s entire piece of area fencing. Fight like that, you’ll end up with a chip on more than your shoulder, and even more missing limbs than you started with.”

The wild grin faltered to a scowl, but Twenty-Seventh Brother was otherwise undeterred.

Swinging his entire upper body as he broke out into a run, he thrust his two right arms forward, throwing his two right saber-saws out like frisbees. Revan deflected the first at a narrow angle, but not without setting off a shower of sparks, and with a panicked duck, Barriss just managed to swing hard enough vertically to launch the second disc at a higher angle upward.

Leaping impressively out of his charge, Twenty-Seventh Brother intercepted both sabers on their return paths, following through the Force-assisted jump and landing overhead in the center of one of the crossing points formed by the walkway’s upper caging. Splaying his arms radially and aiming them downward, the Inquisitor quickly sawed through all four connecting beams, severing the metal cross and dropping it – and himself – directly on top of the party.

Scattered by the falling debris, Revan had leapt ahead toward the landing pad, while Mission and Barriss had twisted low in the direction back toward the receiving deck. All three were forced to duck further out of range as the Inquisitor stepped into a quarter-turn on his feet, the range and number of his arms multiplying the movement into a complete three-hundred-sixty horizontal sweep with his saws. The four rapidly-rotating weapons whirled in the air with a more intense variation on the standard lightsaber’s droning buzz, and left glowing burns on the inner sides of the two nearby vertical beams.

Revan was the first to react, swinging their red blade down against the Inquisitor’s back only for one of the left arm sabers to intercept and extend into a full, blocking double blade. Held close, the blade-lock left room for the upward swing of the more fully-reaching second left arm, still bearing a compact saw and forcing Revan to leap backward out of the range they’d been lured into.

On the ground, Mission and Barriss scrambled backward on their elbows and heels as Twenty-Seventh Brother re-formed the fourth saw and brought each pair of arms into advancing, tandem pendulum swings, the two right and then the two left leaving parallel, molten scars in the walkway floor as they sliced in alternating directions across spaces very recently vacated by hurrying limbs.

The Inquisitor took step after indulgent step, only letting up when a Force wave from Revan launched him overhead at an angle to collide diagonally with one of the vertical support beams.

“Keep on towards the landing pad!” called Revan, a cracked-visor-clad gaze leveling on the recovering Inquisitor.

Barriss caught Revan’s attention for long enough to throw back the borrowed saber hilt, Revan catching it soundly while Mission dragged the Mirialan along by the other hand in the direction of the still-empty, larger platform connected by one corner at the end of the path.

Mission looked back worriedly, in time to watch the Inquisitor rev all four plasma saws and lunge for an outward swipe with both left arms. Revan jump-stepped backward out of the way, and retaliated with a frisbee throw of their spinning red blade. Twenty-Seventh Brother reacted quickly enough to stagnate the sabers in his lower arms and use the cross of the upper blades to deflect the thrown weapon upward, but Revan was already darting forward, ignited purple blade dragging a molten cut in the floor before swinging forcefully up and through the defense. Mission couldn’t tell exactly what damage had been done, but she saw at least two curved and partially-glowing pieces of metal fly out of the shower of sparks. Revan caught the deflected red saber again and shifted into a flurry of targeted strikes, meeting the defensive wall of a single, fully-ignited double blade on the right side while the Inquisitor’s left arms regrouped behind him into the smaller saws.

As the intermittent shade of the walkway’s cage finally vanished entirety, it was replaced almost instantly by a shower of red blaster bolts raining down from overhead.

The traitor situation had apparently been dealt with in the Empire’s favor, as a single-file line of stormtroopers was currently running in parallel to Mission and Barriss, on a narrower balcony connected to the building several floors above.

“Probably should’ve kept the saber!” yelled Mission as she activated a personal energy shield, then lingered back around to Barriss’ left to try to place herself as much between the Mirialan and the downward angle of fire as she could. Given Barriss’ height, it was _almost_ feasible, but the walkway just wasn’t far enough away from the building for any real chance of success.

The sound of familiar starship engines rendered the problem relatively moot.

Barriss almost stopped running in the middle of the gunfire when her eyes settled on the approaching freighter making a dive for the landing pad.

“That’s… that’s the _Ebon Hawk!_ ”

“Yeah, what else would it be?” Mission yelled again, but with a dawning smirk, as the semicircle-backed but roughly E-shaped ship hovered near the edge of the landing pad and lowered the boarding ramp from the more filled-in section to the right of the cockpit.

HK-47 stood at the top of the ramp, his Baragwin heavy repeater hanging at torso-level from a turret mounting point on the ceiling above.

“Combat mode active! Expletive: _Die_ , meatbags!”

A barely-interrupted pattern of six-round bursts from the heavy blaster cannon swept coldly along the upper balcony, dispatching over twenty stormtroopers in a matter of seconds. A few let out screams as they fell, the length of which depended on whether they’d fallen backwards against the outer wall of the prison or forwards over the balcony and down fourteen stories to the street below.

Just as Mission and Barriss were rounding the connected corner and darting out to the waiting _Hawk_ at the west-facing edge of the platform, Revan was still farther behind, backing out onto the uncovered stretch of walkway under a series of violent, dual-spinning-saber swings from Twenty-Seventh Brother. Facing block after block despite his current, perilous use of three fully-extended weapons, the Inquisitor finally just held his upper right and lower left arms out to the sides, large blade-discs aligning in parallel as he slammed the edges against the walkway below and behind him to accompany a forward lunge and leap.

Propelled by the pair of rapidly-spinning wheels making contact with the ground – presumably with the blades happening to be in the exact correct position at the same time – Twenty-Seventh Brother was sent forward in a type of pole-vault, extended legs kicking Revan to the ground and pinning them in place. The Inquisitor’s upper left arm then rounded overhead, the third dual-bladed saber slamming downward in horizontal alignment to blade-lock with both of Revan’s.

Mission looked back with widened eyes as she led Barriss up the ramp, the pair lingering beside HK in the threshold. Twenty-Seventh Brother pushed down on the blocking saber, pinning Revan’s blades closer to the ground and bringing the edge of the curved guard against their throat.

“I don’t know _what_ in all kriffing hels could possess a _Jedi_ to protect _her_ ,” the Inquisitor snarled, baring his teeth. “But now you’ll _die_ for it just the same.”

“There… is… no… death,” Revan choked with a laugh and a smile. “There… is the Force.”

The Inquisitor scowled, smirked, and pressed harder.

“And… the Force… _shall FREE ME!_ ”

An explosive burst of purple-tinted lightning lifted Twenty-Seventh Brother off his feet and launched him several meters back down the walkway, where his boots scraped against the metal below him as he found a bracing footing. There was panic in his eyes as he thrust all three spinning sabers in front of him – severing two of his own arms in the process but leaving one intact weapon to catch and disperse the majority of the lightning.

Revan slowly rose to their feet, not letting up with their extended right arm and the lightning brought forth by a hand still clutching the hilt of a saber.

Mission heard Barriss gasp, but couldn’t be sure whether it was from fear or awe.

The spinning saber began to spark and heat up, showing visible bright orange discoloration around the hilt in the moments before the Force lightning overwhelmed it, and the weapon exploded in Twenty-Seventh Brother’s hands. The Inquisitor stiffened and cried out in rage and pain as he took the lightning himself, the surges coursing over his remaining arms seeming only to amplify the effectiveness of the attack.

Then, it stopped, and smoke rose from Twenty-Seventh Brother’s shoulders and torso as he slumped forward. His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth hanging open, as he just _stared_ back at Revan with the weight of a shattering revelation.

“ _You_ … are _no_ Jedi.”

“…I’m no Sith, either,” Revan stated calmly in the face of the defeated enemy, then reached out with their left hand, fingers extending off the hilt of a purple saber.

Taking a telekinetic grasp of the Inquisitor with the Force, Revan lifted him high in the air, then slammed him to the right, a loud shatter accompanying his return to the prison’s interior.

“…Always wanted to throw someone _into_ a window,” Revan muttered with satisfaction, turning quickly and making a beeline for the _Ebon Hawk_.

A whistle in the air built to a scream from overhead as Revan drew closer, the H-shaped silhouettes of several Imperial starfighters rising over the prison and bearing down on the hovering freighter.

Heart pounding, Mission reached out as Revan made the leap for the edge of the open ramp, and as a bolt of green energy struck down from above.

The impact with the _Ebon Hawk_ ’s shielding tipped the entire front of the ship forward, Revan disappearing past the roof as the opening dropped below the level of the landing pad.

“Revan!”

 _“It’s okay, I’m on top of the ship again,”_ Revan responded quickly, to Mission’s relief. _“Just get us out of here!”_

The _Hawk_ was already turning and pulling away from the city as the ramp closed, and the beginning of its upward course was felt especially roughly as Mission and Barriss stumbled again for balance in the tilting corridor. Slipping past HK, who was kept in place by the mounted gun, Mission grabbed for the wall corner with her free hand, barely managing to support Barriss and herself as she struggled to swing them around the bulkhead and into the common area.

 _Of course_ Canderous forgot to turn on the artificial gravity.

  


* * *

  


Revan spread their arms wide and half-knelt low to maintain balance as the ship made a rounding curve in the air to the west of the city. With space made, and the front of the ship now facing the attackers once again, the wingtip turrets made short work of the fragile, solar-paneled starfighters.

A disturbance in the open wind made Revan look up, and the skies parted.

Emerging out of hyperspace, and appearing directly into the upper atmosphere with a faintly-felt shockwave of displaced air, the massive triangular object that loomed above the city could only be a capital ship. Squadrons of Imperial starfighters filtered out of hangers along the port and starboard edges, and on the smooth, angling diamond-bevel of the ventral side, the tiny specks of several dozen mounted guns swiveled into position.

“…Better make it fast,” Revan spoke worriedly through comms. “I don’t think the Empire’s quite done with us yet.”

Taking a bracing stance, Revan crossed their sabers, unsure whether it was even worth _trying_ to deflect a bolt from one of those heavy cannons but intent to do so anyway.

A single shot fired from above, and missed the _Ebon Hawk_ entirely.

  


* * *

  


“CANDEROUS! GRAVITY!” Mission bellowed across the common room and down the corridor beyond. She relaxed with a short exhale as her weight relative to the ship leveled out, and quickly recovered, finally letting go of Barriss’ hand and making a run for the cockpit.

Zaalbar was waiting in the co-pilot’s seat, and Canderous was just standing up to swap with Mission when Revan’s words came through.

Slipping into the chair, Mission set her hurried gaze through the canopy just as a much larger bolt of green energy breezed past the starboard side of the ship and struck the side of a rocky plateau.

A landslide of debris tumbled from the point of impact, snakelike tension cables intoning loudly as they snapped away from the dust cloud.

Mission froze, haunted eyes watching the scene unfold. With the last of its supports breaking away, the southern end of the city plunged into the dense mist, the entire span of the great bridge swinging below the surface.

“ _No_ …” she whispered, feeling Barriss’ hand squeeze tight into her shoulder.

In seconds, it was gone, only a small, ninety-degrees-tilted stretch of the northernmost end still visible along the opposing rock face. The rest was nothing more than an endless stretch of clouds, speckled with a few departing Imperial fighters and shuttles.

Then, something glinted just at the top layer of the mist below.

Something metallic, but too reflective and cobalt-blue-tinted to be Imperial.

The three small ships skimmed the surface, moving in the opposite direction of the Imperial craft. With four, spearlike flight struts each pointed ahead, the flat, semicircular aircraft swerved away, passenger sections filled to capacity.

A single energy shot rang out, then another, and Mission’s bleak relief turned to horror as several of the swarming Imperial fighters broke off into pursuit.

With another pained squeeze from Barriss, Mission steeled herself, hands tight around the controls as she exchanged a nod with Zaalbar and accessed the comm line.

“It’s Ibri’s ferries! They have civilians, we need to protect them!”

More smaller shots were already darting around the _Hawk_ from farther above, and the scream of more Imperial starfighters could be heard from behind and high overhead, though Mission wasn’t reading any direct hits to the ship’s hull.

“ _Acknowledged_ ,” replied Revan, their voice sounding only moderately strained as deflected laser fire echoed through the line. “ _I’ll keep the hawk covered from up here_.”

“I’ll get on the main gun.” Canderous added in a shout, leaving the echoes of heavy footsteps as he bolted back down the main corridor toward the dorsal turret.

Mission tilted the ship low, descending toward the thicker layers of mist. She spared a glance over her occupied shoulder, attempting to give as much of a reassuring smile as she could to a face frozen over with complete horror and one seemingly desperate shred of hope.

“We’re doing what we can,” Mission offered with determined nod, reaching back to give a small squeeze of her own over the Mirialan’s hand before turning her full attention to the ships ahead and the waiting triggers of the wingtip turret controls. “Let’s show ‘em what we got. Revan… _hold on!_ ”

Dropping like a heavy, yet buoyant weight into the surface-edge of mist behind the smaller ships, the _Ebon Hawk_ tilted steady in the surf, lining up two of the five pursing fighters and hammering through with repeated, converging pairs of red-tinted heavy laser bolts. One of the two rearmost fighters erupted in a burst of brilliant flame, clearing the way for the craft in the lead of the formation to be reduced to the same a moment later.

  


* * *

  


The winding path through the immense rock formations and under crossing archways was taking the pursuit momentarily out of view of the capital ship, and Revan was braced low in the starboard-stern quadrant of the _Hawk_ , using their sabers to deflect the odd incoming blaster bolt while the dorsal turret fired overhead at the descending starfighters filtering into the maze.

As the twin-barreled swivel gun took out three targets in quick sequence, one of the solar paneled-ships managed to flank around to starboard, adding its fire to the attack on the ferries ahead but no longer able to direct any weaponry at the freighter. With the turret occupied by another wave, Revan crept a few steps further toward the Hawk’s starboard edge, energy building in their right hand as their left hooked around the edge of a panel.

“However far your influence truly reaches,” Revan whispered, buffeted by wind and heavy mist as the two ships flew in parallel, “however _complete_ your control, however _absolute_ your power over this galaxy and the lives of everyone in it… it won’t save you.”

The _Hawk_ leveled out between another pair of sheer cliff faces, and Revan threw out their arm, a widening storm of purple-blue lightning chaining across from their palm to the starfighter.

_Not from me._

Immediately, the smaller craft was rocked by a shaking, back-and-forth tilt as electricity coursed over it, setting off small, sparking detonations across its frame. Finally, the power overwhelmed it, the small fighter exploding violently into a shower of sparks, fire, and shrapnel that Revan ducked low on instinct to avoid.

  


* * *

  


Far ahead, Ibri Zucar glanced backward over his shoulder as he dodged fire from the remaining three ships. With a quick set of hand signals to the Zabrak and the Neimoidian, the Rodian directed the three ferry craft into a wider formation, causing an accompanying shift in the pursuing starfighters.

As a drift carried the centermost of the H-shaped ships higher, Mission sunk the _Ebon Hawk_ low, firing upward and securing another detonation just as the chase passed under a low-hanging rock arch and as a whole, swung left to avoid a plateau rising from the mist dead ahead. On the curve, Mission drifted the _Hawk_ higher to the right, ‘riding the wall’ at a shallow angle but getting enough of a rise and lead on the leftmost starfighter to shoot off one of the solar arrays and send it spinning into a flaming descent below the mist.

  


* * *

  


Below Revan’s feet, the _Hawk_ ascended at a tilt with the starboard end lifted, the whole ship rising above another flanking starfighter that had slipped in toward port.

Letting go, Revan slid across the freighter’s dorsal hull and caught another, right-handed hold a few meters away from the port edge. Outward and downward, another casting of Force lightning struck upon the fighter, knocking it a few meters lower and rocking it until the vibration caused the lower edges of its solar arrays to cut meandering trenches in a thicker layer of mist underneath. In seconds, that ship exploded as well, the _Hawk_ completing the curve and swerving back into the relative position the destroyed ship had once occupied.

  


* * *

  


Mission glided the _Hawk_ back to center and hung back, and the moment Ibri lifted his ferry vertical, the Twi'lek sent another volley into the last Imperial fighter, shooting its spherical core out from between its panels.

At another signal from Ibri, the Zabrak pilot on the right turned her ship to the side, presenting the curved wall of the vehicle’s flight struts. Disturbed mist arced over the barrier, completely concealing the ferry and its occupants from sight. Mission was only able to note vague disturbances in the cloud layer as the ship made a wide right turn and slipped away from the pursuit. Similarly, the Neimoidian pilot on the left sunk his ship low, flying it close along the edge of an overhanging rock formation and sliding beneath it at the last moment.

Past the next pair of larger, denser rock formations, the path ahead widened brightly to a small, open sea of fog, where immense spears of rock jutted upward to towering heights. At that moment, two additional squadrons of Imperial fighters flanked in from the left and right, immediately swarming the spiky lake like buzzing insects in a forest of tall trees.

Ibri’s ferry wove between rocky spires, and Mission raised the _Hawk_ higher, avoiding the wider bases of the rocks and giving herself more clearance as they narrowed farther upward. She managed to snag three starfighters as their winding paths carried them in front of the freighter’s forward turrets, but the air all around was lit up in a multi-directional hail of green energy bolts.

  


* * *

  


Sabers ignited again, Revan swung wide, using a narrow cross of the blades to intercept an incoming pair of bolts and deflect it into another starfighter flying to the right of the first. The center ship fired again, and Revan reversed, taking out the attacker’s left wingmate as well. A held x-crossing of the blades in front of them took three more pairs of shots, the energy deflected aimlessly, before Revan drew the blades apart during the fourth impact and sent the two bolts in different directions. Having been targeted to the connection struts between the fighter’s cockpit and its solar arrays, the bolts detonated and split the craft into three falling pieces.

The turret was firing overtime, strained by the need to continually rotate and keep track of fighters on all sides. Portions of the freighter’s shields were lighting up in blue all around Revan’s feet from the bolts that were too wide to starboard, bow, or port to properly deflect.

“Get us to a chokepoint,” Revan spoke over the comm line, “I have an idea.”

  


* * *

  


Mission kept her eyes glued to Ibri’s ferry, watching as it wove toward the far end of the sea of spikes and made for a thick rock arch with only a small space of clearance underneath.

“On it!”

She tilted the _Hawk_ at a slight angle to lower between the final pair of spires, and to duck farther under another Imperial fighter that had flanked around to strafe in from the front. Turrets fired, taking out another fighter to the right that was flying low and attempting to close in on Ibri.

Sinking lower into the mist’s surface and drifting diagonal to kick up a wave, Ibri’s ferry disappeared at the edge of the darkened shadow from the overhanging arch. Mission continued full-speed ahead, overtaking the hidden ship and drawing the starfighters through the opening.

  


* * *

  


The sky darkened, and the fighters packed closer together, a swarm of H-shapes framed by the silhouette of the arch above and backlit by the clearer air behind.

Revan braced, clipped their sabers back to their belt, and held out their hands.

The dark walls of the short cave lit up with overlapping wave-lines of purple-blue as Revan’s lightning chained from the lead fighter, to the nearest three behind it, and so on throughout the entire formation. The ships sputtered, several exploding prematurely from crashing into one another or spinning out into the rock walls. Others held out for longer, but by the time the _Ebon Hawk_ sped out from the other side of the low arch, it did so alone.

There were more rock formations all around, and in the distance to the left, the wedge-shaped capital ship could be seen performing a slow search of the area.

“Open the ramp, and keep out of sight as long as you can for the jump.”

Revan listened for the ramp’s machinery to kick on, then took a path around the turret to the starboard side, running parallel to the cockpit and dropping with a hooked grip around the hull’s edge to swing back into the ship.

  


* * *

  


Mission made a mental note to invest in a roof hatch, if this sort of thing was going to keep happening – assuming the _Hawk_ didn’t already have one that no one had found yet. It wasn’t something Mission could entirely doubt.

She waited for the ramp to close, and set her sights on a large, rising spire, even taller than the ones before the arch. Rounding the base of the formation, she flew the _Ebon Hawk_ up along the far side, keeping solid rock between the freighter and the capital ship as she ascended to full vertical and made the calculations. There was a window of only a fraction of a second for the _Hawk_ to be seen before it broke Cato Neimoidia’s atmosphere and disappeared into hyperspace.

When the bright, passing lights had settled in as a constant, Mission let out a heavy breath, releasing the controls and relaxing into the pilot’s chair. After a moment, she spun the seat on a half-turn, and reached over to take one of Barriss’ shaking hands.

From the across the divider console, Zaalbar was looking at her with a muted, but knowing smile.

Mission sighed, and with her left hand, rolled out a palm-up introduction gesture toward the Mirialan in the seat behind her. “So, this is Barriss…”

There was a look of clear, friendly but indulgent victory in the Wookiee’s wider smirk, accompanied by a low, possibly imagined grunt of _It didn’t even take a day, Mission_ as he stood and walked back down the main corridor to check on the rest of the crew.

“…What was that about?” Barriss finally asked aloud, after almost a full half-minute of eyeing an empty corridor with a confused glare.

With another heavy sigh, Mission used her free hand to prop up her forehead. “Nothing. Big Z’s just… probably gonna be a bit weird for a while.” Mission’s lips contorted around an uncomfortable wince. “He’s also… _wrong_ , I… I think, so… so don’t let it get to you, alright?”

Barriss set her other hand over the one Mission was holding, prompting the Twi’lek to look up into a troubled, tattooed face that seemed to be considering something far more ominous than the last few awkward moments.

“You should probably gather the crew,” Barriss decided, overtaken by a resolved, but hesitant look of preemptive apology. “There’s some… _news_ I still evidently have to break to all of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you took the droid companion quest from the Neimoidian in the city, the droid would be found later by Mission in the equipment storage room. The Neimoidian himself would appear again during the prison escape, having snuck in to try to find the droid himself, and you would be able to turn in the quest then.
> 
> If you opened the second cell and tried to talk to the tortured Neimoidian, his mutterings would hint that the Imperials had been trying to get him to reveal the location of his battle droid-protected treasure vault in the woods.
> 
> At any point after convincing the droids in the forest to leave and/or getting ‘the stranger’ to open the gate, but before destroying the turbolaser, you can walk back to the trading post and get a small reward from Bolka Larko for each task.


	8. Some Matter of Historical Debate

“Now _that’s_ some karking bullshit.”

Around the holo-table, all eyes were on Revan, surprise and confusion widespread at the suddenness and curtness of the reply.

“I…” Barriss stuttered, thankfully with more blank, skeptical bewilderment than hurt. “That’s… not the response I expected.”

“You’re telling me, that we’ve traveled _four millennia_ into the future,” Revan began again slowly, eyebrows arched high toward their hairline, “and people are still killing each other with the same types of blasters and lightsabers, traveling around on the same classes of starships… if you’d said _twenty_ , maybe even _fifty_ years I might have believed you, but _four thousand?_ The sheer amount of societal stagnation and incompetence it would take for anything to be _recognizable_ after all that time… okay actually I could probably see that…” Revan paused, the side of a thoughtful, curved finger to their chin.

“I don’t see any alternative,” Barriss pushed forward. “The stories of Revan are referenced in four thousand years of our history… though I suppose I can’t _prove_ it, since most of those records have probably been destroyed by now…”

“Amendment:” HK spoke up, “My own observations and analyses would suggest this organic meatbag may be correct, Master. The evidence points to a significant shift of cultural knowledge between the point we have traveled from, and the point we have traveled to.”

“Come on, she’s not lying!” Mission added, with annoyance. As much as she was still working on processing the weight of it all, she’d already noticed enough things since the anomaly that didn’t quite add up. When she thought about it, she’d known something was off for a while. “I mean, if you need proof, I’m sure all we have to do is—”

“No, no, I’m…” Revan had their hands waving in the air, guilt written heavily across their frown and forehead as they then dropped to a sigh and looked to Barriss more than anyone else. “I’m sorry. I do believe you, I just… I still don’t want to. We literally _just got done_ killing Vitiate, the greatest evil in the galaxy, thinking we saved the Republic, and four thousand years later a _Sith Empire_ is still a thing that can _happen_ … it’s… it’s just going to take me a minute. Or a lot longer.”

Still feeling the weight of the room’s gazes, Revan sighed again and fell back into their chair, filling the gap in the occupied seating modules that had been opened up and pulled close to the table.

“If this Empire has as much of a hold on the galaxy as Barriss says, then I suppose our next move should be to make contact with whoever is left to oppose it. Find the rebellion, wherever it’s taking root, and if none yet exists… start our own. That _said_ , however, I know what’s happened must be difficult for quite a few of you. Travelling the galaxy will likely be far more dangerous than we’re used to, but everyone in this room has the right to propose a destination, no questions asked, even if all that will come of it is some small sense of closure.”

Behind their visor, it was hard to tell exactly where Revan was looking, but Mission had the odd sense their focus was on Canderous most of all.

The Mandalorian himself just seemed stoic and accepting, and made no move to speak. Neither did anyone else, for that matter, even though Juhani appeared distantly saddened, and as had slowly occurred to Mission like a dropping weight in her gut, Zaalbar was expectedly, deeply troubled.

“…On your own time, of course,” Revan concluded after a few more moments, the words drained of any humor or complaint.

“I… do have something that might help with the first thing,” Mission spoke up even as her thoughts raced, holding out the datapad she’d taken from the guard at the prison. “It’s only a theory, and probably a wrong one, given the source, but it’s _something_.”

Revan took the datapad and examined the contents closely. “You’re right, I _wouldn’t_ trust the source, but even if Ord Mantell isn’t the command center we’re looking for, any activity _at all_ on the world is a more promising lead than anything else we have. We can start our search there once we’ve all had some rest, but for now… maybe it’s best to take a few days hiding out from this new galaxy before throwing ourselves back into it.”

Slow and solemn nods became the gesture of choice around the table, even from T3 if not HK. Mission felt a cautious hand on her shoulder that she barely even registered as attempted comfort, as she spent the moment concerned with showing a quiet respect for the others and desperately hoping Big Z wasn’t taking it _too_ hard.

“And I _suppose_ we can all still look on the bright side…”

Revan had cracked a smile, putting on a clearly facetious, final attempt at humor but pushing through with it regardless.

“…at least we didn’t have to go to _Manaan_.”

  


* * *

  


There were a few last commands to set from the pilot’s console, a process that involved plotting in a straight course to Ord Mantell, adding a bunch of preprogrammed stops along the way, then dragging those additional points all around the screen until the programmed path was a jagged, back-and-forth mess that crossed itself sixteen times.

It had usually been enough to keep that Iridorian mercenary off their tail for at least a few days, not that Mission could really be sure how much, or how little effort the Empire would have put into looking for them.

She said nothing as Zaalbar silently took the co-pilot’s station, but settled back into her chair with a soft breath and half-quarter-turned his way with a saddened smirk of assurance.

“I guess it _is_ probably my fault more than anything else.”

Zaalbar was quiet for a few seconds, then slowly shook his head, growling faintly.

_No. You could not have known, none of us could._

Mission exhaled again, and half-shrugged before letting her shoulders fall. “I’m still sorry, Big Z. I kept saying you had more time…”

 _And any number of things could have proved you wrong_ , Zaalbar countered. _None of us were taking life for granted. I’ve followed you toward certain death more than once, knowing what it would mean for my future then. You can’t be to blame for an unforeseen event, nor can I._

“This is… _different_ , though,” insisted Mission.

 _Only because we are still here, to reflect on what has changed, and what paths are now closed_. Zaalbar paused in a strange, deep consideration, taking on a worried and somewhat guilty look. _I will admit to you, it… it even feels somewhat of a weight lifted, though I am not yet ready to accept that. I must mourn for my failure, but I cannot suspect it will take long to heal._

Mission offered up a bleak smile. “It’s okay to feel that way. It’s not selfish to see the good in things. It’ll take some adjusting, but…” She faltered as distant memories and realizations circled again like a punch to the gut, but mostly kept her composure. “I’m sure we’ll be okay after a while.”

Zaalbar was looking back at her with faint confusion and deep concern, letting out another apologetic warble.

_I’m sorry, I know this must be difficult for you, too._

Mission felt more guilt than comfort. “I mean, sort of? I kinda feel like I’m holding up okay, all things considered. Maybe it’ll just take me a while.”

Zaalbar worried his fur-covered brow, but seemed to accept that with a faint nod as he turned away to his dash console. He said nothing for a long moment, then looked back at Mission out of the corner of his eye. _Your new friend seems very troubled._

“She is,” Mission acknowledged almost wistfully. “I should probably go check on her, huh?”

 _That one will need careful attention and close comfort for quite some time_ , Zaalbar agreed with a low, cooing trill, _though I don’t think she’ll have too much trouble finding it._

“Zaalbar!” Mission rounded with an annoyed grimace, but fell quickly to a reluctant sigh. Big Z was _smiling_ , and she had to let him have that one.

Finishing up the last of the calculations, Mission set the ship to auto, then stood from her chair. Rounding the divider, she latched both arms around Zaalbar’s shoulders, something that was a lot easier when the Wookiee was still sitting down.

“Feel better, Big Z! And then don’t feel bad about it, because that’s just counterproductive.”

Zaalbar relented into the hug, enough for Mission’s tight-armed rocking to slightly swivel the chair a few times back and forth. There was a _look_ in his eyes, but warmth behind it, as the two finally parted and he bid the Twi’lek a departing nod.

  


* * *

  


Sliding the replacement screen panels into the frame, Revan spent the next few moments reassembling the interface visor, then fitted it back into place over their eyes.

The cracks hadn’t actually done much to impede visibility, but it felt much better to have the device repaired, more than just having it in place again did after the events of the day. Not having to look at the damage would make it _much_ easier to put aside the fresh memories and keep the subtle, involuntary shudders in front of the crew to an absolute minimum.

It was lucky Revan had made a habit of keeping spares of anything important, and ominous that they’d just used up the last spare for that part in particular, assuming they couldn’t pick up any compatible supplies later on.

 _At least this one won’t have to last forever_ , Revan reflected, eyes drifting upward to meet the downcast gaze of a certain narrow-faced, red-accented mask hanging on the wall above.

In an otherwise bright room – shaped more-or-less like a square, with the port-aft corner sheared away by the broad, circular doorway connecting it to the common area – the small alcove set into the shortest, aft-facing wall was faintly shaded. Only recessed above waist-height, featuring a set of shelves hidden behind one of the steep-sloping ceiling lights to the left, and with the lower surface forming a convenient desk with a left-side, surrounding curve-angle fit for a swiveling chair, the space was the perfect size to form a small, personal workstation, as it had slowly become over the second year of the last three and remained ever since.

The mask lingering near the ceiling was a new addition, of course.

Sighing in relief and finally allowing themself some measure of relaxation, Revan spun the chair away from the still-cluttered desk, their gaze scanning past the closed entrance, the still-stowed, fold-out bunk set into the other short wall, and finally to the two longer walls marked by disused control panels, a pair of sink basins with no clear purpose, and the recessed, brightly-lit, backlighting wall panels behind them.

Radiating waves of calm in the Force, Juhani sat cross-legged in the farther side of the nearer alcove, her left knee resting over a countertop monitor that would have clearly marked the space as a non-seating area, except for the fact the ship was theirs now and they’d made do however they’d pleased throughout the long, intermittent process of installing the basic pieces of furniture Davik had somehow neglected to.

Wordlessly, Revan left the chair and climbed into the brighter alcove, shaking off what little, shredded tatters of professional composure remained to act as mild deception toward the rest of the galaxy, outside the small, nightly retreat of most of a square. There was a supporting shoulder waiting for them, as well as a pair of gentle, cautiously caressing arms as the rest of the room’s lights dimmed.

“The Force bond,” Revan whispered softly. “It’s gone. I probably should have noticed that.”

“You would be forgiven,” Juhani whispered in reply, leaning on Revan as much as Revan was leaning on her, “for not being so eager to call upon it often.”

“When she told me she wouldn’t see me again, I didn’t know it would be anything like this. I probably should have said something to the crew.” Revan sighed again. “I probably should have done a lot of things.”

“The Force, as per usual, was clouded and vague in its prophecy,” Juhani assured. “I do not count you at fault, and I am grateful once again, even more so, that we were granted such a chance to part ways on better terms than we had long been left with.”

“But still, it must hurt to think about.”

For a quiet moment, Juhani breathed lightly with focused thought. “I know that… that those I knew from the enclave…”

Revan found Juhani’s hand and clasped it tightly in reassurance, already knowing exactly who she was talking about, in particular.

“We had chosen our paths, and I knew it was forever, even then. That was not the place for me, it was with you and on this ship that I first felt truly accepted. I have my family here, and… though it is only those that have remained with us, I have… I think it will not be so difficult for me, as it must be for others, though I also suspect many of them will share my perspective as well. It is the sort of trial for which we are fortunate in our preparation, and in that we undertake it together.”

Juhani quieted, but continued to ponder for another several seconds.

“It is not so challenging to see, why it is you weep more for the state of _this_ time, than for the one we have left behind.”

Revan continued a caught breath into a deep inhale and a long exhale. They gulped with a shudder, choking back the forming thoughts, and pulled away just enough to look Juhani in the eyes.

After another moment, Revan slowly removed their interface visor, setting it aside back around on the desk. Their left hand returned from the task to rest over the hesitant, permission-seeking right hand that only then began its soft, steadying caress of Revan’s cheek and jawline.

“I guess I just wanted to… I wanted to someday be able to look at _you_ , without knowing that, even though I might have saved you on Taris in a life I can’t remember, the evil I saved you from is still out there. To look at Mission and Zaalbar without knowing that same evil has its sights set on _them_. Hels… even to look at _HK_ without knowing that from a certain, _correct_ point of view, the contempt he holds for organics is in fact well-deserved. Or… to look at myself without looking back at the galaxy, and wondering how many other fates, how many _sentences_ I could have served that weren’t ‘Sith Lord with unlimited resources.’ Maybe I always knew, that that war would need to be fought long after all of us were dead and gone, but now, to _see_ four millennia later that nothing’s changed? How many hundreds upon _trillions_ of lives were worth nothing but suffering? _A time of darkness and tyranny not seen for a thousand generations_ , Master Zhar says. How about a time of darkness and tyranny _for_ a thousand generations?”

“That is not your responsibility,” Juhani assured, with another light hand on a shoulder that was, as always, enough solid weight to keep Revan grounded. “It has always been your instinct to fight against evil, be it the Mandalorians, your own apprentice and the Sith, or whatever injustices, no matter how small, may become known to us in our travels. You see suffering, and you cannot ignore it, and that is what makes you the most kind, compassionate soul I have ever known. But it is also what makes you struggle, and suffer for yourself in your own knowledge.”

Juhani frowned softly at Revan’s withdrawing gaze.

“I know what you are thinking,” She spoke with a resigned, knowing, yet faintly pleading expression. “You see this new time as it is, threatened by a great, tyrannical evil once more, and you cannot help but wonder why we were sent here. You are suspecting it is because… because this new galaxy _needs_ Revan, and… I can only hope against hope, that for your sake, it does not.”

“I can’t just walk away. You _know_ I can’t.”

“Yes, but…” Calming somewhat from her desperation and worry, Juhani instead grew a measure contemplative. “Now, we have already killed an emperor of the Sith, and have been shown, in no uncertain terms, that it has _not_ accomplished what you’d hoped. Do you truly think the way we are going to win, is to yet again attempt the same?”

“…Maybe you’re right,” Revan supposed with a sigh – and with a lingering sense of incompletion, brought about by having momentarily glimpsed the leading edge of a picture yet unclear. They turned fully around, eyes rising toward the mask with a new, slightly more tangible grasp on the question that was nonetheless still an uncertainty.

“As concerns that piece of metal,” they began, curious words hanging quiet as a whisper, “and the weight it carries… _you_ knew Revan better than I do.” They turned again to meet Juhani’s eyes, letting out a tense breath in the deeply communicative silence of locked gazes. “There’s no one else I’d trust more, to tell me when the time is right.”

  


* * *

  


Mission… wasn’t sure if she could call herself _okay_ , or if she even wanted to be.

It wasn’t like Taris. It wasn’t like everyone she knew had _died_ … well, technically they’d _all_ died, a long, long time ago, but it hadn’t happened so abruptly for _them_. They’d still lived out the lives they would have anyway, the only difference was, Mission would never see them again.

And how different _was_ that, really, from what would’ve happened if she’d stayed?

After Griff, she’d gotten pretty good at making the difference in her head, between the people who were a part of her family and those that… _weren’t_ , anymore. She still _cared_ about Griff, but after Tatooine, part of her had always just been expecting to hear about him turning up dead one day; one of his get-rich-quick schemes finally gone too far. Carth and Bastila… hadn’t exactly been _nice_ to her from the beginning, but for one, shining moment in their journey across the stars they’d been more like family to Mission than her brother ever was.

But now, Mission only had room to be sad about leaving Carth and Bastila for as far as she’d been able to forgive _them_ for leaving _her_. After three years, that was… about fifty-fifty? For now, at least, Mission was still carrying enough hurt that if she could just tell herself that Griff had never planned on coming back, that Carth had a happy life with his _actual_ kid, and that there was nothing anyone could’ve said that would have ever fully convinced Bastila to leave the Jedi, then she might even be able to outrun the weight of it all for a while longer.

Barriss was in the starboard crew quarters, sitting nervously at the edge of the middle bunk with a forlorn, distant stare across to the opposite wall. The basic combat suit’s light brown top with black sleeves and leggings fit her a lot better than the prison garb had, and combined with her neatly tied-back hair and probably the first shower she’d had in a long while, she was looking at least a bit more put together physically than she was emotionally.

“Mind if I keep you company for a while?”

Barriss flinched a bit at the words, but her only reply was a sad look of acknowledgement and a muted nod in Mission’s direction.

Mission sat down to the Mirialan’s left, leaving enough space for reasonable movement clearance but making sure not to give the illusion of keeping to any intentional distance. She still couldn’t be sure whether her presence was primarily reassuring or intruding, but with the situation as it was, she could always hope for the former and apologize later if it was the latter.

“…I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” Barriss spoke briefly.

Mission took a long, readying breath as she smirked a faint smile. “Don’t worry about me, okay? The past was already in the past for me, anyway. I should be more concerned with the fact I just watched a _whole city get destroyed_ , but… I guess I’m kinda desensitized to that sort of thing after the Sith started bombing the first planet I can remember while I was still on it, and then did the same thing to the second one right after I left.”

Barriss looked sympathetic, and slowly nodded before looking away with a wince. “Being exposed to so much death can make it seem… inconsequential.”

Mission didn’t miss the implications, or the verbal equivalent of Barriss offering her a sword hilt-first, but she pointedly kept her verbal hands to herself.

“I’m sure I’m remember it, though,” she said instead. “I remember all of them… well, as many as I _can_ , you know, that I actually got to know a little bit. I have a list of… well, maybe I’ll tell you some other time.”

Barriss had her eyes sealed tight, seeming on the verge of trembling. Mission reached across to press the back of her palm against one of the other girl’s nervously clasped hands, prolonging the contact warmly but breaking it off quickly enough for it to pass as an attempt to get her attention.

“So… there are _stories_ , are there?”

Barriss eyed Mission with evident confusion, but after a short internal debate, there was enough flickering light in her eyes to bring Mission to smiling relief.

“You aren’t mentioned in many of them by name,” Barriss began with a look of slight apology. “Most accepted archival mentions of Revan refer to them simply as a Jedi who fought the Mandalorians, fell to the dark side, and became a Sith Lord. Far closer to my own interest were the more obscure texts, scattered accounts from countless worlds that had once been attributed to individual groups of folk heroes until a Rodian archaeologist named Rota Tanwa collected them, believing they all, in fact, referred to Revan and their companions. Some still deny the connection, others recontextualize the events as having taken place before Revan’s fall, but Tanwa always insisted the stories involved a _redeemed_ Revan, during and after their journey to destroy the Star Forge, based on matching descriptions of the equipment you all traveled with. Evidently, one of Tanwa’s ancestors sold you several unique pieces.”

Mission considered, reminiscing with a forming frown. “I don’t… _remember_ any Tanwas… Oh! Unless you mean Suvam Tan! He sold us my belt, Revan’s armor, and HK’s repeater.”

“I believe I do remember a footnote to that effect,” Barriss confirmed with a nod. “The family name was changed at some inexact point during the intervening centuries.” There was a moment when the Mirialan paused, seemingly struck by a sudden, tense embarrassment, then rushed to clarify. “The collection was a favorite compendium of mine, at one point I had the entirety of it memorized.”

Mission continued her soft, adoring smile. “Must’ve really liked those stories.”

“As I said, they were…” Barriss withdrew only slightly, at first. “You helped people. Brokered peace, righted wrongs, ended conflicts instead of prolonging them. You were everything I…”

Then, she almost entirely shut down, and Mission looked over her with alarm. She calmed to slight relief when Barriss briefly met her eyes, with the promise of waiting words that only needed a bit more time to properly assemble.

“I never told you why I did it,” Barriss stated coldly near a whisper, looking away again.

“No, because I never really asked,” Mission countered, a combative smirk fading to a reconsidered, contingent acceptance. “And you still don’t have to, but if you think it would help…”

Barriss took a deep, shuddering breath, and spent several moments after that lost in a deep, troubled contemplation, drawing up for several false starts before sighing again and settling with her eyes glued back toward that opposite wall.

“I convinced myself it was the only option, even after I’d written off so many other options on the sole basis of the very same code and teachings I would be defying anyway. More than that, I was so narrow-minded I believed it would actually make a difference for the better, convinced everyone would react exactly as I’d intended them to in my most treacherously rationalized thoughts. In my haste to condemn the Jedi Order for the life they’d raised me into, I neglected to consider the effects on my reasoning caused by the life the Jedi Order had raised me into. Do you see the problem yet?”

“Yeah. Maybe they shouldn’t make everyone who’s Force-sensitive be a Jedi.”

“I wanted more than _anything_ to be a Jedi,” Barriss countered tearfully. “But that was before being a Jedi meant leading armies into battle, slaughtering entire species purely because they opposed the Republic, sending countless men to their deaths in a war they were bought and sold for… I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t sit back and keep watching people die in front of me on the orders of those so removed from everything they commanded it all so trivially. I thought I could make them see, if it happened on their watch, in their _home_ , instead of some faraway battlefield. I _forgot_ people were so set in their ways that sort of thing doesn’t change anything either.”

It was Mission’s turn to take a deep breath again, walking the tightrope between being perceived as absolving too easily or condemning as harshly as Barriss was resigned to.

“I was still clinging to that long-dead vision of Jedi as peacekeepers,” Barriss concluded with a bitter sigh. “But the galaxy was at war. I used to think, maybe if I’d accepted that, things might have turned out differently.” She shook her head. “But it never would have mattered anyway. None of it would have. I… I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore.”

Mission would admit, the concluding words brought her to an easing relief. “Then… don’t. I know it’s a lot to have weighing on you, and I don’t think it’s ever really going to go away, but it _is_ all in the past now.”

At receiving an ambiguous, downcast look in response, Mission switched gears with a faint, warm and inviting smile.

“You said you had a best friend. Maybe… you could talk about her? You know… _before_ everything happened, I mean.”

Barriss tensed a moment, but was, for the first time in quite a while, able to bring herself down to a semi-relaxed state.

“Ahsoka was…” Barriss let the anchor hang in the air for a time while the rest of the statement took shape. “She was… _strange_ , at first. So different from what a Jedi was supposed to be. Eager, and outgoing, much like you are – and needless to say, that was rather unorthodox for someone in the Order. We met on Geonosis.”

“Never been,” Mission encouraged. “What’s it like?”

“It’s a barren, unforgiving world populated by an insectoid species called the Geonosians,” Barriss continued flatly. “We were there fighting a ground campaign against them, paired together on a mission to destroy an entire hive. There was also a weapons factory involved, so I suppose that justified it. We infiltrated as a pair, fought through the defenses, and when we were out of options, intentionally buried ourselves under the rubble of the entire structure just to destroy our enemies.”

“That sounds…” Mission furrowed her brow in worry. “I mean, you were _okay_ , right?”

Barriss gave the Twi’lek a strange look, but pressed on. “Ahsoka never lost hope that we would be rescued. I had a more realistic view, and one that only ended up being proven incorrect on account of Ahsoka’s master being as stubborn as she was.” Barriss paused for a deep exhale. “I actually quite often looked back on that time fondly, despite the life-or-death situation we were faced with. Somehow… I suppose being with Ahsoka made it all seem worth it.”

Mission would admit she was very, very biased here, and knew enough to keep her thoughts to herself, but she was already pretty confident that what Barriss was talking about was leaning toward a bit more than _just_ a friendship.

“Afterwards,” Barriss continued, with the hurriedness of having skipped past probably at least one detail she’d intentionally left out, “the two of us left the planet on a medical transport, overseeing a supply run. Somehow, a parasite from the planet had stowed away aboard the ship: an anneloid species capable of entering a sentient’s cerebral cortex, and taking command of motor function.”

“…A _brain worm_ ,” Mission translated, mildly taken aback. “You’re talking about a brain worm.”

“…In simple terms, yes, I suppose,” Barriss relented with a slight shiver. “One by one, all of our troops became infected, until it was only Ahsoka and I. Then… then it got me too.”

In the short pause while Barriss recovered enough to keep going, Mission balked with a mock-haunted look and a bit of a grin. “So, either there’s more to the story, or that explains _a lot_.”

Barriss scowled with another intensely scrutinizing look, but did manage to crack a faint smile for only a fraction of a second. Mission counted that as a success, at least until the Mirialan faltered to a saddened, unsettled frown.

“I still get headaches sometimes, that I didn’t get before,” Barriss admitted under her breath with another shudder. “Obviously, no one ever looked _inside_ to see what even happened, nevermind did anything about whatever foreign surface particles it must have tracked—”

She stopped talking immediately when Mission’s hand slipped tightly around hers, and there was a short several seconds where it was clear her thoughts were spinning overtime to try and decide how to react, all while Mission braced for the embarrassment of being called out.

Somehow, though, the girl that was mixed signals personified, with a guilt-prompted refusal instinct on top of it, managed to quietly accept both the contact and Mission’s wordless apology, nodding faintly and easing into the rest of the story.

“The worms were weakened by low temperatures, and Ahsoka used the ship’s coolant system trying to drive it out of me. There was… one moment I managed to regain control.” Her head fell low, as if already guessing and dreading Mission’s reaction. “I _begged_ her to kill me.”

Mission gave her the mercy of only a sigh and a squeeze of a hand, but if she was already intending on watching Barriss carefully, now it was _doubled_. “But she didn’t?”

Barriss shook her head. “She refused, and nearly doomed us both, as well as the entirety of the medical station we were headed for. Instead, she somehow managed to swing her saber and strike only the parasite, as it struggled in the cold and partially extracted itself. In the freezing temperatures she’d created, it was the last of her strength as well, and she fell unconscious just as I did. The last thing I remember before waking up in the infirmary…”

Barriss paused, taking a deep, shaking, nervous breath. Mission could see fresh tears in her eyes.

“She… had her arms around me, even after struggling for her life against me only moments before. I’d never felt anything that close, before or since, like a warmth so intense I could swear it nearly drowned out the cold. Sometimes I think… that was the last moment I ever felt truly at peace.”

 _Okay. Fuck, that’s it_ , Mission thought, shaking her head roughly against stubborn tears of her own. In a flash, her right arm had moved from holding Barriss’ left hand to brushing across her back and hooking around her right upper arm, and the Twi-lek had half-scooted closer in the process of bringing her left arm around to hover indecisively in the air in front of them both.

“Would… it be okay if I…”

Barriss was frozen solid, eyes wide like an iriaz caught in a landspeeder’s headlights. Finally, Mission just sighed and wrapped her arms around the other girl fully, pulling a startled but relenting Barriss close and humming softly but frustratedly in that way you did when you hit the limit barrier of how close and tight you could physically hug someone but still had plenty of leftover emotional intent to do so.

After another few seconds, Barriss took the space of a single, lightning-quick-as-if-she-hoped-it-could-go-unnoticed motion to bury herself further into Mission’s shoulder, unable to stop the tears that had turned into quiet, but faintly audible sobs. Mission kept leaning over her, kept her arms tight and her hands intermittently soothing up and down, faintly murmuring _I don’t need a reason_ as an entire eighteen-nineteen-twenty-however-old-she-was years of touch-starved wept profusely over the irrevocable future that what was, at the very least, an upbringing of neglect-bordering-on-abuse had helped drive her to.

And probably also over the fact that the one light in her entire existence had been left very personally hurt and betrayed by the damage she’d caused.

“We’ll find her,” Mission whispered defiantly, already pushing aside a few people who definitely didn’t belong in her head anymore to compete for that personal course-quest Revan had offered. “If she’s still out there somewhere, we’ll find her, and if nothing else, you can say what you have to.”

Barriss didn’t seem convinced, or really in any way hopeful, but having heard words at all had at least brought her to a bit of momentary, collected breathing.

Mission breathed with her, already knowing the pause for the temporary calm it was. She massaged Barriss’ shoulder with an agreeable resignation and a bleak smile.

“I could stay tonight.”

  


* * *

  


“I _said_ you can get lost!”

It was, of course, very difficult to be intimidated when the stormtrooper in question was lying belly-down on the precarious upper surface of a cylindrical tower antenna now turned horizontal, his arms and legs draped over either side to stop himself from sliding off. His helmet was pressed right up against the metal, barely able to even form a line of sight with Ibri’s ferry hovering just below.

The current compliment was only another small fraction of the city’s once numerous inhabitants, but besides those that were savvy enough to have airships prepared, and those Ibri and his companions had managed to ferry out of the chaos, there were still some lucky enough to have been at the end of the city in the immediate range of the still-holding set of tethers.

And either inside a building, or close enough to a wall to not fall immediately to the acid sea below.

And to have been able to survive the impact, at that.

Or, in this trooper’s case, to have been standing on a crow’s nest guard tower, on the opportune side of the circular platform to have been thrown directly at the narrow communication antenna that continued up through the middle.

“ _Ooo_ key doke,” Ibri began with a light shrug, and what would have been an eye-roll if Rodians could do that. “You want to be our prisoner, or you want to stay here and cook like roast monkey-lizard in the fumes, it your call.” He manipulated the ferry so the wider passenger section was positioned just below the trooper’s section of tower. “But we not going to stay here long, so you want to live? Figure it out quick!”

After several moments of hovering in place, Ibri remained stoic and motionless except for the slight sliding of an adjustment lever, lowering the ferry away from the platform at a speed of two centimeters per second.

“…Okay, _okay!_ ” the trooper relented, lifting his palms away from the tower’s sides in an attempt of a surrender gesture. “Just… give me a minute.”

Slowly and carefully, the stranded stormtrooper shifted his weight, before ultimately losing any sense of a controlled descent and rolling into a rough landing between the ferry’s forward row of seating and the outer curve.

Occupied at the controls, but unwilling to let an unrestrained imperial loose on his transport, Ibri cast a searching glance around the dozen or so passengers he’d managed to rescue on this, his third trip back into the city’s remnant. “So… by chance, anyone here have handcuffs?”

Six Neimoidians raised their hands.

“…You know what? Ibri not even going to ask. Just get this prisoner secure for the ride back up.”

Ascending finally out of the mist cloud and back into clearer air, Ibri headed for the rendezvous in the grassland border on the east side of the plateau.

It had been two days since the city fell, and the Empire had cleared out completely. They’d probably assumed whoever they were after here had escaped on that ship that left the prison. A day and a half later, a smaller group of freighters and haulers had touched down instead – all from different systems and crewed by different species, but working together to evacuate the survivors.

Ibri knew there would be rebellion, eventually.

But he hadn’t expected them to already be so coordinated, so soon. And he _especially_ hadn’t expected them _here_ of all places. No one had really been able to explain to him why one lost city on Cato Neimoidia was all of a sudden such a high priority, and if Ibri could read people, he was pretty sure it was because even the ship captains were still pondering that question themselves.

So Ibri noticed, in the distraction of offloading the last set of survivors and taking the trooper into rebel custody, when someone trying very hard not to be seen snuck quickly away from the camp.

Ibri followed, and although his suppressed light repeater was still collapsed and disassembled in its inconspicuous, rectangular over-shoulder pack, the holdout blaster in the lower back sleeve of his flight suit would do in a pinch.

He ended up not needing either, though. Once she got far enough from the camp, the strange girl stopped even _trying_ to be sneaky, just walked right out onto the grass plain overlooking the now-abandoned trading post and stopped near a rock formation at the edge.

“Did you see it, when it happened?”

Ibri froze.

The Togruta wasn’t even _looking_ at him. Maybe she’d heard him walking, but Ibri had been careful. Then again, the Togruta had lightsaber hilts on her belt, just like that Human who’d passed through with the Twi’lek and the Wookie. Ibri didn’t know a lot about the Force, but he could put two and two together.

“Uhh… the landing pad just dropped out from under us,” Ibri placated, stepping out from behind a tree and reluctantly accepting the apparent invitation to start talking. “City was _there_ , then it _wasn’t_. Probably happened a little slower on the other end, but Ibri too busy trying not to get swatted by a building when the whole thing twisted a little.”

“How long do you think people… _knew?_ ” the Togruta asked, words quiet and oddly peaceful for how much strain it seemed to be putting on her to talk at all.

“Ibri wasn’t the only one prepared.” The Rodian shrugged, looking around awkwardly while they tried talking across the field. He ultimately decided to chance that the correct move was moving closer to the girl. “Maybe others saw it coming, were afraid for long time, but once it started? Over in seconds unless you hit something really hard somewhere that didn’t sink.”

“The prison went under, though?” the Togruta asked, struggling through the question that really wasn’t even a question. Clearly it had, she was looking right where it used to be.

Ibri stepped up beside the girl, but kept at a safe distance in case _this_ was when she was going to go for the sabers. Ibri had the feeling he could trust her, though. “That’s why they built it there. Didn’t stop the ship from getting out, though.”

“Yeah,” the Togruta agreed with a bit of a stifled laugh. “I guess that means there’s still hope, then,” she continued, but the words tasted of something weirdly bitter, like disappointment. She let out a long, frustrated sigh into the vast, empty expanse and the mist below.

“…You _confusing_ , girl,” Ibri observed with skeptical eyes. “Do you _want_ hope, or do you _not_ want hope?”

The Togruta blinked, and the sun glinted off the lines of tears streaking down her face.

“ _Oh_ , uhh…” Ibri admittedly panicked just a bit, tensing up with indecision, but thankfully the girl decided to fall forward at the rock in front of herself instead, palms flat against the stone surface and arms braced like support columns as she sobbed a confused, hunched-over breath.

“I wanted… _closure_ , I think,” the Torgruta spoke in almost a whisper, catching up with the air that left her in scowled sighs. “I wanted… to _move on_. To finally just put this all out of my head. She’s just a memory, and _not even a great one_ , at that.”

With another, gulping glance at the two sabers on the girl’s belt, Ibri took a risk.

“Ibri thinks… you trying harder to think that, than you should need to.”

The next few seconds were quiet and tense enough that Ibri recoiled on reflex, arms crossing defensively over his face as a half-formed “EEEeeeEeeEE!” escaped his throat. He peeked awkwardly back through the barrier once a few more seconds had passed and he noticed, embarrassedly, that no attack had actually occurred.

“I would have _felt it_ if she died,” the brooding Togruta started up again, with a moment of confident _insistence_ that only cracked again after the words left her lips. “I… I _know_ I would have…”

She turned to Ibri now, wide-eyed and almost pleading.

“Do you think… you were there, right? You’re one of the ferry pilots. Do you know who was on that ship? Why were they even there in the first place?”

“They… took the ferry a couple times that day!” Ibri answered quickly with his hands in the air, not sure if this was an interrogation but deciding not to risk it. “Three of them on the first trip, could have been more in total. Ibri didn’t see the Human after the first time, just the Twi’lek and the Wookie came back, and the Twi’lek went out alone again. I think the Human was in some kind of trouble with the Empire.”

The Togruta looked curious. “How do you know?”

Ibri pointed to the girl’s lightsabers. “Like yours, didn’t even try to hide them.”

“Do you think they would…” The Togruta stopped herself, shook her head and almost seemed to laugh at herself, then pushed on anyway. “Do you think they would have taken someone from that prison, that they weren’t already there for?”

It still appeared very much like the answer to that question could decide a lot of things, the continued attachment of Ibri’s head to his body quite possibly among them. “I…”

Thinking about it, though, all the tension left the Rodian’s body, his thoughts circling far and away from the idea of immediate danger. He relaxed his shoulders and looked out over the vastness, staring blankly while his mind wandered.

“Ibri don’t know, but… that Twi’lek girl? Ibri wouldn’t be surprised. She… not accept things, like others do now. She ask Ibri to… help others survive.”

“…What did you say?”

Ibri answered the Togruta’s odd look with an incredulous, tilted stare. “Were you not listening?”

“No, I just…” the Togruta trailed off, her features shifting with visible confusion, then something that might have approached alarm. In a sudden movement, she regained a sort of urgency about her, her gaze snapping to the distant treeline on the inland side of the fields.

Ibri tried to follow where she was looking, but the Rodian saw nothing out of the ordinary, nor had he heard anything that might’ve caught the Togruta girl’s attention. “Something wrong?” he spoke quietly, nonetheless mentally readying for a potential combat situation.

“There was someone there,” the Togruta answered simply.

Without warning, she darted forward across the grass, making it to the treeline so quickly Ibri hadn’t even started to run. The Rodian gave chase, already questioning why he was even bothering, but whatever was happening, he was pretty sure he was invested now. Branches cracked against his flight suit and threatened to scrape at his skin as he sacrificed caution for speed, determined not to lose the Togruta in her speedy, apparent pursuit of some unseen target.

Out of breath, Ibri finally stalked out of the dense forest to find the Togruta standing in a shaded clearing – a clearing populated with several fields of stormtrooper helmets on pikes and a small, compact wooden cabin at the center of the area.

The Togruta stared at the cabin for what felt like several minutes, her expression unreadable from behind.

Then she walked up to the door, and knocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's just a small epilogue left for the next chapter, and then we're off to the next planet... eventually.
> 
> A big thank you to anyone who's been enjoying this fic, especially those who've managed to find it in its early, non-spoiled days and stuck around for the reveals! This series was a bit of an experiment to start, and will most likely be more widely searchable as I add more tags this work and eventually the other works.
> 
> (If you haven't guessed, the works in this series will function much like the planets in KOTOR, continuing the main plot and character arcs while also serving as their own mostly self-contained stories with associated sidequests. Each one should be populated by a healthy mix of generic OCs, thinly-veiled pop-culture references, and surprise known character appearances)


	9. Epilogue: Or, How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Bomb

There was no answer from inside.

Ahsoka knocked again, then _again_ almost a minute later. Still nothing.

That presence she’d felt… could it have been wrong? No, it… she was _sure_ of it. It just seemed so impossible, and the longer the silence reigned, the more of Ahsoka’s instincts told her she must have been mistaken.

Now, instead of knocking again, her open hand sought out the lock mechanism in the Force.

The door opened, and the Togruta took a long look inside. It was a lived-in space, though the simplicity made it impossible to tell whether the _living in_ had been done recently, or a longer time ago. To the right was a wooden table and one chair, to the left a small kitchen with several pots and pans, and making up the rear half of the square, a bedroom – sealed off by the stand-out internal addition of a metallic and transparisteel wall, complete with a compact, two-stage airlock door.

There was no mistaking _that_ detail.

So… _where?_

Ahsoka felt distinctly messed with, and scowled fiercely, something dangerously close to rage boiling in the pit of her stomach.

She sensed the Rodian cautiously approaching behind her, and sighed out her frustration, letting her shoulders slump non-threateningly. She could sense his fear of her rather openly, and attempting to dispel it was bound to be a time and a half, if things kept up the way they were.

“… _Ibri_ , was it?”

The Rodian froze again, and Ahsoka sighed again, turning around. “ _Yes_ , I can see you in the Force. _No_ , I’m not going to hurt you. _Maybe_ there’s just… a lot on my mind right now.”

In a huff, Ahsoka stomped past a still-startled Ibri and began the slow trek back through the forest.

  


* * *

  


She’d been trying to forget Barriss for over a year now.

Of course, at some point ‘forget’ had turned into ‘think about occasionally, then actively refuse to do anything about it.’

And maybe ‘occasionally’ was, in fact, far more often than she could let herself admit.

Where had her refusal gotten her? To here, to the moment she’d learned that the Empire had destroyed the prison Barriss was being held at? The moment that should have been the end of it?

The _end_ , and not… not whatever _this_ was.

All was quiet as Ahsoka meditated atop one of the larger stretches of rock. Through the Force, she could sense the light breeze brushing through the high stalks of tall grass, the heartbeats of black-feathered birds nesting in the trees above, and very distantly, a singular harvester droid moving through the fields in a delicate but persistent, slow skitter. Ibri was out there too, watching nervously, but curiously from a distance, and Ahsoka sort of hoped he wouldn’t go anywhere anytime soon. He _was_ her best lead so far.

She was sure of it now. She could still feel Barriss in the Force, _alive_. And even if it was only for a drawn-out, flickering moment, her former friend’s presence was shining back to her just a small measure brighter than it had in so, so long.

_I knew where she was being held_ , Ahsoka scolded herself. _I should have broken her out as soon as the Empire became a factor_.

But that would have been to face a hurt Ahsoka was so fully convinced needed _absence_ to heal. Barriss had betrayed her, _caused_ her that pain, set in motion events that nearly took her life. She’d done something so horrible, she’d become someone who didn’t _deserve_ to be saved. It wasn’t _right_ to save her.

Why was it so hard to remember that? _Why_ , when Ahsoka thought of Barriss, did she still see the quiet, gentle, thoughtful padawan that had been her friend? Barriss with that shy softness, Barriss that had wanted nothing more than to please and be accepted, Barriss that had smiled like Ahsoka was the only brightness in her whole world.

_Ahsoka_ , who hadn’t yet realized how terribly true all of that was.

Ahsoka sighed. She’d changed all-too-quickly over the past few years. One breaking point after another, her world shattered again and again without time to repair. She’d put herself back together as someone stronger, wiser, but it had been too late. Too late for Barriss.

She still remembered when Anakin had taken her hand as she was pulled from the rubble on Geonosis. Remembered with new, opened eyes how Barriss _hadn’t_ been offered the same from Master Luminara. A tiny, almost insignificant distinction, but how obvious was it now, that it hadn’t been a one-time thing?

Ahsoka… always had people willing to break the rules for her. Anakin, Padme, Obi-Wan, even Master Plo. She’d been reassured and comforted at every failure, praised and encouraged at every success, loved like family by the sum of so many fractures in the Jedi code, all carved out for her and her alone. And Barriss had none of that.

They’d been leading completely different lives from the beginning, and Ahsoka had been blind. She’d never known the life of a Jedi raised true to the code. Never realized how much _she_ meant to Barriss, radiating the warmth of that illicit attachment even secondhand, and how even the smallest expression of sympathy, of reassurance, of _understanding_ could have changed everything.

But, by definition, she’d been the Ahsoka _before_ the bombing. Before she’d seen the Council for what they were. Before she’d rejected the Jedi, before the purge, and before the Empire. The Ahsoka who was still only spared from the code to an extent, because she’d still _believed_ it when it told her it was wrong to be honest and vulnerable with Barriss, and better to keep her at arms’ length.

But the past was the past, what happened _happened_ , and trying to pull it all apart and shift the blame was sounding dangerously like an excuse.

Ahsoka cleared her mind, and re-ordered her thoughts.

_Barriss_ set off that bomb in the temple. _Barriss_ killed again to cover it up. _Barriss_ tried to frame me for everything. _Barriss_ almost got me executed.

_The Council_ cut Barriss off from anyone who could have cared about her. _The Council_ forced her into a war she didn’t want to fight. _The Council_ made her feel like there was no one she could turn to.

A tear rolled down Ahsoka’s cheek.

_I_ failed to see how much she was breaking inside. _I_ wasn’t there for her when she needed me most. _I_ left her in the hands of the Imperials for over a year and only bothered to show up when I thought she had just _died_.

Barriss had committed a terrible crime. She was responsible for her actions. She didn’t choose what she was put through, but she chose how she reacted. Planned it methodically, even.

But that didn’t make the Council innocent, and it couldn’t make Ahsoka’s own feelings of failure disappear. Barriss had been _such_ a bright light before, kindhearted and committed to _preserving_ life. The friendship they’d shared had meant _everything_ to Barriss, and enough to Ahsoka that even the betrayal that ended it wasn’t enough to keep her from having thoughts like…

_I should have broken her out BEFORE the purge._

Knowing that justice itself had been corrupted to such a degree as to no longer faithfully serve its purpose was _one_ thing. Yet, she could now clearly remember moments even before the fall of the Jedi, surviving alone in the lower levels of Coruscant, when the idea of Barriss condemned to an inhospitable prison cell, or facing an execution of her own, had caused Ahsoka far more pain than the actions that had created that situation.

_No. The moment I walked down those temple steps, I should have turned right back around and found a way to take her with me._

That… was a thought. An unexpected one, and one that clearly failed to take into account a number of other factors that were also very important, but Ahsoka would be lying to herself, to pretend it was anything less than a measure of the true, formidable depth of her emotions.

She’d told herself she needed to forget Barriss, but the stray thoughts added up, these only being the latest, darkest in a long line of generally less unsettling alternatives. At one time or another, she was sure she’d planned through every last, singular moment all the way since their first meeting on Geonosis, where she could have done _something_ to change what happened. If she’d just _noticed_ , or _asked_ , or spared even _one more moment_ of her time, been there for a friend in need instead of taking what she had for granted…

But even if she _could_ have saved Barriss, it was a futile exercise. And not just because Ahsoka couldn’t change the past.

Because in the end, none of it would have mattered anyway.

The tender moments she’d shared with her once-friend had never been more than fleeting motes of light in a galaxy destined for darkness. The connection they’d tried to hold to was a momentary aberration in the will of the Council, and the Council itself was a pawn in a greater game, subject to the will of a power-hungry madman determined to root out _anything good to ever happen_ and burn it to the ground.

From the beginning, it was an already-written tragedy, playing out in slow motion.

Bombing or no bombing, Ahsoka Tano and Barriss Offee never had any chance at all.

_She’s still alive._

Of all the thoughts that rang in her head, that one lacked any darkness at all. It held no light either, just… a simple truth, like an indecisive buoy floating on a directionless sea.

The future was in the open, more than it had ever been. Now, there was a choice, and a chance, and it was one Ahsoka could take or leave, given all that had preceded it. The past was set, this was the here and now she was left with, and every sense of right and wrong ingrained in her by the laws of the Republic and the Jedi way told her it was already too late for it to matter.

“The Republic has fallen, and I am no Jedi,” Ahsoka spoke with stoic, defiant resolve as she slowly rose to her feet. “My name is Ahsoka Tano, and as long as there is a chance… _any_ chance at all… I will _not_ accept this.”

In most cases, the Force would have warned Ahsoka about another presence approaching from behind, but as this presence meant her no harm, and was also in tune with the Force in the same moment, there was little reason to interrupt her thoughts as the second figure slowed to a stop at the Togruta’s right, pulled back a cloak’s hood, and stood calmly beside her. Instead, the effect was reduced to a simple, underlying recognition, such that when Ahsoka turned suddenly to face the other, it was without being _completely_ taken off-guard that she set widening, still-shocked eyes on one particularly elusive but as it turned out, very real Kel Dor.

“Hello, Ahsoka.”

It was telling, but not entirely unexpected. After everything, what remained of their bond was far too cold for any friendly _koh-to-ya_ ’s to be passed between them, and the fatherly warmth of the past was quelled by respectful, regretful distance. Even though Ahsoka couldn’t see his eyes behind the sun-shade-like coverings, it was clear the Kel Dor was looking her over with something other than familiar recognition.

Yet, as much as Ahsoka had changed, and traded the naivety of personal trust for a view of the grander machinations around her, so had the galaxy on a far grander scale. Although his once-pristine armor gauntlets were now singed and weathered, and his usual robes covered by a larger cloak like the one he’d worn undercover, this was _Plo Koon_ , still alive when so many others were lost, and at the very sight before her, there was a part of Ahsoka that so desperately wanted to throw aside her scorn for his inaction and loyalty to the Council.

As the seconds passed, and reality set in… maybe it _was_ far easier than she’d believed to forgive the actions of the past, or to at the very least set them aside when other things were now vastly more important. It was telling, too, when Ahsoka found it to be the _recent_ events between them that finally made her wide eyes narrow to a scowl.

“Where _were_ you? I was _looking_ for you!” she sneered, with something moderately more intense than the irritation that accompanied being lied to in circumstances that _didn’t_ involve the question of whether someone she cared about was _dead_. She stopped herself just short of throwing her arms forward and shoving the old master for the trouble, noting the way he now carried and leant on a walking stick similar to Master Yoda’s – obviously, a longer one in this case.

“No,” Plo answered simply, shaking his head. “Before, you were looking for _guidance_ , and mine is no longer something I can ask you to trust in. Now, you have already chosen.”

Ahsoka eyed him skeptically, perhaps disbelievingly, but it wasn’t long until she’d put the pieces together and, for the first time in a long time, felt the barest, unwelcome return of that old, sinking, guilty feeling of having been caught doing something wrong.

“So, you know what I’m planning,” she concluded, giving Plo the respect of a regretful tone but still making it clear she would not be moved.

“Indeed.”

Where Ahsoka might have expected a sigh, or a voice tainted by clear, scolding condescension, the reply carried only a mild, sad exhaustion that didn’t even seemed fully aimed to criticize.

“…No, it is not an action I would have taken, or even recommended,” Plo clarified with a shake of his head, now confusingly taking on an undercurrent of something almost like amusement, or a bleak noting of irony. “It is very much the sort of attempt I would have forbidden, though… I will admit such a verdict would have had more to do with what is _accepted_ as possible than what actually _may_ be possible. Regardless, I have no intentions of standing against you in this.”

“… _What?_ ” Ahsoka prodded with narrowed eyes, finding it hard to believe what she was hearing and even harder to reassure herself against the strange, dawning concern Plo’s tone brought on.

“Plo Koon, Jedi Master with a seat on the High Council, died along with the Order,” the Kel Dor spoke. "I claim no authority over you, or over any other powers that wish to take up the mantle of the fallen Republic, Jedi or not.”

There was a moment when the grandiose quality of the declaration faded with a small, filtered sigh, the features of his face around the components of the mask taking on a distinct look of not only weary exhaustion, but the calm _acceptance_ of weary exhaustion as he lowered his gaze.

“I _failed_ you, Ahsoka. That is a burden I accept, whatever my heard but unheeded protests might have been. I failed you, and all the Order, and if more of us on the Council have survived, _none_ of us have any place in deciding the paths of others. Your judgement I must trust in now, as you once trusted in mine.”

He glanced up again, his scaled brow ridges and wrinkled, insectoid lower face now conveying honesty, and shy uncertainty, to a depth of open vulnerability Ahsoka wasn’t sure she had ever seen him express in the entire decade-and-a-half she’d known him from the age of three.

“I am here now because I _wanted to see you_ …” Plo admitted, “and perhaps held out some small hope that you might share the sentiment. Anything I am now, beyond that, to you or to the galaxy, must be built again from nothing if it is to be built at all.”

Looking at him now, Plo Koon seemed so much… _less_ of the monolith he had once been, and not _only_ because of how much the height difference had evened out. He wasn’t an invincible, guiding protector anymore, but neither was he the reluctantly, yet sternly authoritative _threat_ he’d become to her in her last days as a Jedi.

They stood on that cliff’s edge not as master and foundling, nor as teacher and student, nor as judge and defendant, but as… two former Jedi in a galaxy that assigned exactly _zero_ power and standing, equivalently, to them both. If anything, _Ahsoka_ was the one with the head-start on valuable connections and relevant experience in the era of Imperial rule, something Plo seemed already to understand simply by having observed her.

Allowing all the tension to ease from her posture, Ahsoka let her expression soften to a faint smile that, though not initially intended, very quickly began to border on tearful. She kept her composure though, exuding a serene calm she’d only recently grown into as she stepped across the distance and set a soft, reassuring hand around the Kel Dor’s upper arm.

“In case you didn’t notice earlier, when you _noticed earlier_ … it turns out I am apparently not that great at holding grudges.”

Plo Koon arched a friendly brow to match Ahsoka’s. “Clearly.”

Ahsoka grinned more broadly into a bit of a smirk, though the edge faded a moment later to solemnity, as she sadly shook her head. “You _know_ I couldn’t stay, but… I missed you. For what it’s worth, I never really believed they all spoke for you. If things had been different…”

She trailed off, both guessing and sensing that Plo was as at ease as he was going to be, and that he wasn’t ready to let go of his guilt over her any more than Ahsoka had been able to let go of her own guilt over Barriss.

“So…” she posed instead, “what _are_ you going to do now? I mean the cabin’s _nice_ and all, but…”

Plo arched another brow, then grew momentarily contemplative, but even that was marked with a distinct sense of it being a mocking gesture.

“I was extended… a very curious offer, by an even _more_ curious pair of travelers,” Plo said with amusement and the air of remembered, faint disbelief.

Then, his eyes wandered, back through the forest toward the distant, and currently out-of-sight part of the plateau where the rebels were still conducting their evacuation efforts. He seemed to ponder what he was sensing, then turned back to Ahsoka with a twitch of hidden mouthparts that might have been a questioning grin.

“As someone with clear influence on the state of the galaxy’s best efforts to recover and reclaim, yet very likely, a mask of secrecy from even those you assist… I don’t suppose _you_ have a ship of your own, with any open vacancies for one ‘cranky old-timer’ who keeps to himself?”

After briefly balking at the words, Ahsoka smiled.

“You know… I think I just might.”


End file.
